


Disappeared

by snoopydoodles17



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creepy, F/M, Mystery, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:32:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoopydoodles17/pseuds/snoopydoodles17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Modern Day AU) Regina Mills is on her way to her cousin's housewarming party when her GPS takes her a mysterious long way around, ending up crashing due to wildlife, and almost getting killed again once she meets a mysterious man. (Also on fanfiction)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She's running later than she should've been.  
Her cousin's housewarming party started at 6:30, and Regina had promised Emma that she'd be there a little early to help put the food out. But now, at 6:45, she's just now getting in her car and putting the new address into the GPS.  
She taps it in, making mistakes and cursing as her clumsy and careless fingers hit the a six instead of a seven in the address. After it's in, the annoying woman's voice comes on and tells her to back out of her driveway.  
Regina does as it says, grumbling that she knows how to get out of her own dang driveway and she knows she has to get off of her road and onto the dark highway.   
It's late autumn, the trees are losing their leaves and the chill invades the night. She always has to wear a bigger jacket than she wants, because it's starting to get cold enough in the Arizona night that she can actually see her breath.   
It's supposed to be a cold winter, you'll want to stock up on those coats. The weatherman had told her what to do, and she did it quickly so they wouldn't jack the prices up first. Right now, she's sweating in it from being irritated and in the stuffy car.   
A right, a left, and another left, and she's on a completely dark road; no lights surrounding the area, no other traffic, and she's beginning to wonder if her GPS took her the wrong way around. She digs for her phone in the cupholder, moving the gloves she'd placed over it, grabbing it, and pressing the button for it to light up. “No service.” She mumbles to herself, feeling a chill go down her spine.  
She doesn't scare easily, never has. Not with growing up around her idiotic cousin Emma who was always playing pranks on Regina. Mary-Margaret, her other cousin (and Emma's sister), has always hid behind Regina when Emma played the dirty ones, or the really scary ones. Nonetheless, she can't ignore the hair that's standing up on her arm.  
To break the eerie silence, she turns the radio up and there's nothing but static, taking her breath away for a moment. Surely Emma's house isn't this far off. “Turn left in 500 feet.” The voice says on the GPS, and she starts to slow down, looking for the side road that it's telling her. Squinting and struggling to see, she finally sees the glow of the street sign, too concerned with the radio to notice it said Dead End.   
She drives and drives along the open road, desert surrounding her. She's not quite as nervous now, though she has every reason to be. The radio is turned down because she can't get any station in, the phone is back in the cupholder – even though she never got to call Emma – and in the back of her mind she's desperate to find the house.   
Somewhere along the way, she's begun to hum to herself, breaking the silence in this way since there was no other way. Halfway distracted, she doesn't realize she's speeding above the limit at about 60 MPH, 20 MPH over. She's tapping the steering wheel, bobbing her head slightly to the song in her head, and then – swerving into the loose sand to miss the coyote, dashing out in front of her. Her airbags open, her head hits the bags, and she's out.  
⧫   
About an hour later, her eyes are beginning to flutter open. Her head is pounding from the impact as she tries to pull herself upright and look around, feeling lethargic and nauseous.  
She groans and reaches for her forehead, rubbing the bump that's laying beneath the skin. Her next instinct is to read for her phone, hoping and praying she has service. Nothing. She slams it down into the passenger's seat and leans against her headrest, catching sight of the GPS up in the windshield. It's flashing something at the top; grabbing to get it down, she looks and sees it says Arrived.  
“Arrived?!” She yells out, throwing the GPS over with her phone in an angry fit. “I've arrived in the middle of nowhere with a possible concussion, a broken car, and a-” She stops cold, swallowing thickly and trying not to move.  
It's a man. He's standing in front of her car all of a sudden – she has no idea where the hell he came from. Her eyes don't move, and neither does his body. His face is chiseled nicely, scruffy and stubbly around his cheeks and chin, and bright blue eyes shining in the headlights. A bit of blood glimmering on his eyebrow.  
He's slowly walking around to the driver's side door, and Regina immediately locks it so he can't get in. The window. He can still break the window. He definitely seems muscular enough to break the window, and she can only hope he doesn't attempt.   
“I don't mean any harm.” She says finally, hoping he doesn't, either, “My GPS told me to come here and...I don't even know where I am.”  
He doesn't say anything, but seems just as shaken up as she is. “What's your name?” He asks after about a minute of silence.  
She thinks for a moment, wondering if she should give out even her name to this man. She's in the middle of the dessert with no cell signal, he could be a murderer, for all that she knows. This is how all of the typical murder movies go, isn't it? “I don't know if I should tell you.” She says through the window, still having to make herself look at him. “I don't know why you're here.”  
His eyes are staring at her and it's making her uncomfortable. It's like his mind is only halfway there at the moment, not quite connected to anything at his mouth, eyes, or ears. “Robin.” He mumbles, “My name, it's Robin.”  
She can breathe a little easier now. Just barely easier. “And why are you here?”  
“My car crashed.” He says, looking out to the desert that he must've come through. “I walked here when I saw lights. You've been unconscious for an hour.”  
She nods, guessing that to be right since it's nine o'clock now. “My name is Regina.” She says, purposely only giving her first name. He didn't give his last, neither should she. Anything else he asks, she'll play the concussion card and say she can't remember. “Where did you crash?”  
“Next road over.”  
Next road over? “How did you crash?”  
“A coyote.” He replies, simple and not phased at all.  
She runs her fingers through her hair, taking a shaky breath in and looking out the front windshield again. She tells him that's how she crashed, too. She doesn't know what she wants to happen, now. “Do you have a cell phone?”  
Shaking his head, he says, “It has no service.” and showing her himself. “I don't know where I am, and my GPS turned off.”  
She looks over at her GPS in the passenger seat, picks it up and tries turning it on. Nothing happens. Great. “Mine is too.” She mumbles, probably not loud enough for him to hear through the window.   
Setting it back in the seat, she tries turning her car on. He shakes his head, “That won't do you any good, you're too stuck in this sand...”  
She sighs and leans her head against the back of her seat, shutting her eyes for a moment and just wishing this was all a dream. How did she end up in this situation? All because of this ridiculous GPS – the GPS's company will be getting a not-so-nice letter from her in the mail, and probably a dozen phone calls as well. It cost her enough money and it should not be breaking like this.  
The car is completely silent, both of them are completely silent, which is why they both jump when there's a sudden howl in the distance. Some animal, probably. “Okay...well...” She starts, looking around on him and trying to see if he has anything harmful, “You don't have a gun or knife, right?” He shakes his head, says no. “Would you tell me if you did?” She asks, and he nods this time.  
That's a relief, at least. She nods in response to his and reaches slowly and shakily for the door handle. “Okay...I'm going to open this door. If you pull anything I'm going to get back in.” She says nervously, not really sure why she's explaining all of this to him. But he steps back, allowing her the room to open her door.   
Once she does, she steps out and stands up, never moving her eyes off of him. He doesn't move, he simply watches her. “Are you as shaken up as me about all of this?” She asks him, brushing herself off. She notices the blood stain on her shirt, and she realizes now that her head must've been bleeding.   
When he nods, she feels a sense of relief again. Maybe he isn't a bad guy, maybe it's just some freak coincidence. “The nearest store is miles away, we really should find shelter from-”  
“Oh no. No, no, no. I'm not going anywhere except to find a phone, Robin.” She states sternly, shaking her head and slamming the door. “I don't care if I'm walking all night, I'm finding the gas station.”  
He sighs, shakes his head as if he knows she's making a mistake. And he does know it, because that one coyote ran in front of her, and another in front of him...it means there are more than likely others that would gladly feast on two healthy bodies. “That's not a good idea.”  
“And who are you? The man full of good ideas? What were you doing out here anyway?” She asks, looking at him with piercing, dark eyes. The best she could, at least, since the car's lights were still on and only slightly illuminating the night.   
“Same thing as you,” He says, shifting his weight to just one leg, “Depending on my GPS to get me to my ex's new house to pick up my boy. And now that I can't call her, she'll think I bailed and I probably will never get sole custody of him now.”   
His voice was snippy, stressed. She decides he's just as confused as she is, and turns to start walking down the road. “I'm going to the gas station, whether you follow or not.” Her heels are clicking against the asphalt with each step, and she's suddenly wishing she would've worn more sensible shoes (even if she did think she was going to a party). “And I'm not waiting for-”  
“Me?” He asks, walking up beside her and making her jump. “I know it's dark, but I at least figured you could hear me breathe.”  
The truth was – she couldn't hear him. Her thoughts were too loud in her head to hear much of anything other than the clicking of her annoying heels. “Don't be sarcastic, I'm not in the mood.”

⧫   
“Right there.” He says, pointing to the barely lit station, giving an eerie look to it. “It doesn't look open.”  
He's right, it doesn't. Will she tell him that? No. Have they walked for two hours for nothing? No. She determines that they have not, and if the store is closed, they'll either find a payphone or wait until the morning.  
When they reach the doors, Robin looks in through the glass. “No one is inside, Regina. We're screwed. We walked all this-”  
“Shut up.” She gripes, huffing and turning around to look for a payphone. “There's gotta be a phone around here.” She says, beginning to search around, looking around the whole building.   
She finds the backdoor, tries the lock, and to her surprise she opens it with ease. When she goes in, she sees Robin's eyes widen from across the store. She goes to the front and unlocks it for him, turning back to snoop around for the phone. When she finds it, he puts his hand over hers to stop from picking it up. “You know we're breaking and entering, right?” Technically, the door was open. “And we would be arrested if we call the police.”  
“Seriously? They would arrest us because we didn't want to stay out in the desert all night? Get real, Robin.” She says, swiping his hand away and picking the phone up against his will. She puts the phone up to her ear, gasps when nothing rings after she dials 911. “It's not working.” She says, suddenly searching down the cord to see if it was broken somewhere.   
Of course, nothing was broken, all in tact.   
“I swear the store was in use when I came down this road.” She says, setting the phone down, feeling a bit defeated. “I don't understand why the phone isn't working.”  
“Maybe it wasn't in use?”  
“Maybe you should shut up?” She snaps, looking back at him, standing over her shoulder. “I just want to get-”  
She's stopped mid-sentence when her eyes catch onto a peculiar note. She picks it up carefully between her index finger and thumb, studying it. The words We've disappeared are written in what looks to be blood, and as soon as she realizes that, she drops the note and lets out a ridiculous squeal. “Th-that...Robin!”  
He picks it up to see what her problem is, and when he reads it, he seems startled. But like she's realized, he doesn't act hastily like she did. “Someone is messing with us, Regina. How else? I mean we both crash in the same spot, both from a coyote, our GPS's both screw up, our phones stop working, and now this? This is bull.”  
The light flickers, startling her since that's the only one in the store. Her heart is pounding, her stomach is churning, “I want to go home.” She whispers, shaking her head the best she could, “We shouldn't be here.”  
Robin is ignoring her, she finally notices; he's snooping around the desk like she originally was. She hisses, “What are you doing? Trying to get us killed?!” before grabbing his arm and making him turn to her. “We need to get home.”  
“Oh yeah? How do you expect to get home, Regina, when neither of us have cars or phones and we're at least twenty miles away from any civilization?” He asks, becoming stern and somewhat frightening to her, “I'm trying to find something to get us out, if you would excuse me.” He says.   
She sighs and shakes her head nervously, crossing her arms in front of her and looking over her shoulder at that bloodied note. Her eye catches something outside, “Robin...Robin.”  
He turns around, seeing the same thing almost immediately. “Lights.” He whispers, awed that someone was coming down the road, “Lights! We have to catch them!”  
Almost instantaneously, they were both pushing each other out of the door and running toward the road in a rushed frenzy, screaming, yelling, hollering, waving their arms in the air. The car wasn't stopping.  
“Surely they'll see us on that curve, there. They'll have to look over enough to see us.” Robin determines, nodding and trying to get himself to believe what he was telling her. Even though she could tell he was being overly-optimistic, she nods too, trying to get herself to believe as well.  
They watch as the car is cruising at a somewhat normal speed – not fast, not slow. When it comes to the curve, it doesn't turn. “Robin.” She hisses, “Robin we need to move.”  
“No, not yet, they'll be able to see us if we stand here. They'll stop.” He states, still nodding, still swaying side-to-side nervously.   
She watches as the car comes closer, closer...”Robin! We need to-” She's cut off as her eyes widen, more than when she realized it was blood on the note, “No one is driving the car, Robin. There's no one in there.” She whispers, not sure why she's hushing her voice.  
He shakes his head, “There's gotta be someone in there, Regina. Cars can't just-”  
“Robin!” She yells again, grabbing at his arm as it's getting closer, “You're going to get us killed!”  
She should jump, she should move out of the way and let him fend for herself, but at this point – he's protection. He's protection from everything out here. He's big, strong, and not too afraid of much, it seems. At least it doesn't seem that way until she tackles him to the side, letting the car pass by the two stranded pedestrians who are now on the ground.   
Regina whips her head to the left, watching the car as it runs straight for the gas pumps. Scrambling to her feet, she yanks Robin up with her again and runs, jumping into the ditch just as flames blew up behind them. Oranges, yellows, and reds illuminating the sky in a beautiful display, along with gas fumes and deathly heat.   
If there was anyone in that car, there certainly isn't now. Not alive.

⧫   
She's dead. She has to be dead. There's no way she could've survived that and still be able to tell her survivor tale.  
But she's pretty sure she's alive, and she's beginning to wish she were dead. He's on top of her, full body weight on hers, and in an awkward angle, too. Because she pulled him into the ditch, he landed on top of her lower back and rear, her left knee bent up underneath the both of them in a painful, uncomfortable way.   
The weight of his body is almost suffocating her, along with the lack of fresh air – from the flames taking up all of the oxygen and sucking it from their lungs. They aren't close enough to the fire to get hurt, but they're close enough to feel sweat dripping from their foreheads.  
She takes a look at his watch, it's about twenty minutes since they were in the convenience store, which means she blacked out longer than she had originally thought. Now, now she has to find a way to roll Robin off of her and get him to a safer place.  
Where is a safer place, now?  
Freshly manicured nails dig into the sand in deep, tough strokes as she tries to pull her body out from beneath him. He's large, she thinks, but it isn't the first time she's had to pull herself from underneath a large man's body (but in a completely different scenario). She can finally steady herself on her bent knee, pushing herself up shakily and rolling him off of her back safely.   
Immediately, she's tending to him.  
He's face up, thankfully, so she checks his pulse. Good. She looks at his lips and swallows thickly, looking back to the flames and shielding her dark eyes from the intense brightness. She shouldn't even have to have second thoughts about giving him CPR – but she is. One, she's doubting she can do it correctly. Two, if they've been unconscious for more than ten minutes, it may not work. Three, it's his lips.  
This isn't the time to be thinking about someone's lips at all, and that's what makes her heart almost ache. She wonders when she became this desperate for someone that she's having second thoughts about CPR, because she's afraid she may like the taste of his lips.  
Stop, Regina.  
Thinking back to the class she had once taken, she follows the steps inside of her head to give him CPR, and she's grateful when his eyes slowly open and his breathing evens out.   
Those blue eyes...they look so confused and dazed. Hurt, scared, and completely awed. She never noticed just how blue they are until the contrast of the flames were flickering around them, lighting them up.   
Things are silent for a few moments after he slowly sits up, leans against the side of the ditch and brings his knees to his chest. Once he re-opens his eyes, they drift to her and his mouth opens to ask, “What just happened?”  
A question she doesn't exactly want to hear, because she definitely doesn't know the answer. What did jut happen? Is this some kind of sick prank and people are going to pop out of nowhere saying Gotcha! or is this really what they're trying to push to the back of their mind? The end? “I don't know.” Is all she can come up with to say before leaning against the other side of the ditch in the same position he is.  
She flips her hair to the side, part of it knotted and she's not exactly sure why. Her head is tilted back slightly, looking up at the stars that are absolutely flooding the insanely dark sky (aside from the flames). Her mind is buzzing with thoughts of what's going on, why this is happening, and why it's happening to them.  
“I think we need to talk about our lives in order to figure this out.” She finally concludes, looking back into his eyes.  
When her eyes go back, she realizes he was already watching her, and it makes her shiver a little. That's when he takes his jacket from around his waist, hands it to her neatly, and says, “It's getting a little bit chilly out.”  
And it is. The flames aren't as hot now, it's been at least fifteen minutes since they both have been awake (most of the time they've spent just thinking to themselves). She takes it graciously, nodding in thank you, and wrapping it around her shoulders.  
Once they're both situated again, he clears his throat and tightens his knees closer to his chest, “I have a son...Roland.” He starts, sighing and looking down, “He's only four, and I'm the only parent in his life.”  
Nodding, she starts off on her story as well, “My cousins are the closest people to sisters that I have, and that I've ever had.”  
A few more lines are lazily thrown back and forth, and then they start asking each other things. Are you married? No. Are you dating? No.  
This is beginning to feel more like a dating resume than a questionnaire of their lives. “Roland's mother...what happened to her?” She finally asks, getting that somewhat awkward question out of the way. She isn't sure why it feels awkward to ask him that, but it does.  
She can tell this is an uncomfortable subject for him, maybe even an awkward one as well. His shifts, his silent pause – all signs of discomfort on a subject. “I put her in harm's way.” Is his final answer, not looking at her face for the first time in this conversation. “And because of that, she died.”  
More silence, more discomfort for the both of them. What happened to her? What harm's way is he talking about? How did she actually die? Should she now be worried? No, she has nothing to worry about. If he wanted to kill her he would've already done it by now. Besides, he gave her his jacket to use for now. That should mean something. Right? Yeah...  
Then again, maybe he just hasn't killed her yet. He's baiting her, making her trust him, letting her think – no. No. That's not true. He's a good guy, he wouldn't have walked with her if he wasn't. He wouldn't have come in the store after her if he wasn't. He wouldn't have stood in front of her when he put them both in danger with that car. She hopes.  
She still can't help but wonder if he knows more than he's letting on, and if he's holding something about his life from her so she doesn't catch up to speed. That's why her next question sounds blunt and rude, “Would you put me in harm's way?”  
There's that uncomfortable shift again, the looking away, the silence...all of it. Back in full action and making her feel the need to shift, look away, and shut up. Finally, he shakes his head and looks into her eyes again, “I hardly know you.” He says, sighing, “But we seem to be the only people in this town and – and we need to find what happened to them. And we can't do that by not trusting each other.”  
She shakes her head, tells him no, they can't, and extends her hand out to him. “Truces.” She says, looking to the end of her fingertips, “We're both unarmed, and if you wanted to, you could easily kill me by choking me or something. So we need to just trust each other, because you're my protection and I just saved your life. I think we deserve more respect for each other than we're currently giving.”  
Her eyes drift from her fingertips to his when they twitch around his legs, slowly extending and moving his arm to reach hers, grasping her hand in a firm hold. “Truces.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Best read if on FanFiction.net...)

The gritty sensation of sand is filling her mouth, and all she can think of is I hope I didn't snore.  
It's daylight, but the unusual grayness of the Arizona daytime is making the surrounding area have an eerie feeling to it, almost giving her chills down her spine. Still, it was quite warm, and she's shedded his jacket and her cardigan from last night (but still used the cardigan to “cover up” with as a blanket).   
They agreed, last night, that neither of them needed to keep watch. What was there to watch? They were well off the road – no unmanned cars could run over them, and who would find them way out in the entrance of a cave?  
Earlier in the night, she was completely against the thought of sleeping in a cave with an unknown man after everything that happened. But she couldn't break her promise on the truces deal and not change her mind on the cave, especially when that was their protection from the heat off of the sun this for the morning.  
She looks over, purses her lips when she sees he isn't awake yet. When she woke at 3:36 this morning, he was still awake, sitting against the wall and instinctively looking out, even when they agreed no guarding. He couldn't. She could sense he couldn't sleep, just from the weary yet alarming expression on his face when their eyes met for a brief moment. It's no wonder he's still asleep at 8:30, he didn't get any last night.  
It startles her a little when her stomach growls. She hasn't even thought about food until now, and the sigh she lets out is because she knows there isn't a thing to eat. Even if they walked to her car, she only has a half-eaten bag of nacho cheese Doritos, and she doesn't know if he has a stash hidden somewhere. She kind of hopes he does, but at the same time...it's a far walk.  
To see across the flat area, across the road, and to the charred gas station, she has to squint her eyes and shield them with her hand from the sun. She can't see any movement, only the smoke still floating up from the now blackened car and gas pumps. But her gaze isn't fixated on that, it's on the convenience store. Food. Water. Medical supplies if they need it.   
She waits only ten more minutes before extending her leg as far as she can, bending at the ankle to tap his leg with her toes. “Robin,” says Regina, “Wake up.”  
The first try is with no luck. The second, he moves and groans. The third, she claims she'll pour water on him if he doesn't get up – even though she knows she can't follow that through because of the lack of water around them. “I'm up, I'm up.” he's saying after the water threat, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He sits up and sand falls from his back, and she chuckles inside her head, wondering if she's as covered in sand as he is. He looks more like he took a bath in it. “Time?” He asks, not having his watch strapped to him at this moment, but to the side of him (and apparently he's too busy rubbing his eyes to look over at the time on his own watch).  
Regina doesn't mind, though, when she answers, “8:43. Convenience store didn't burn down, and we need supplies.” She says, even though the mere thought of it makes her body ache, telling her no, don't. She doesn't want to go back to the place where she almost got killed, where someone may have been killed or abducted; but her stomach is taking over.  
He nods in reply, because he doesn't need to say anything to that. She appreciates his lack of words. She considers it more of a gift than a “lack of” type of thing, because she's the one that usually likes to do most of the talking anyway. Though, this whole trip, she's been more silent than usual due to the circumstances.  
She's so lost in thought that she doesn't notice he's already up and slipping his shirt over his head, noticing the muscles he has that's perfectly etched into his back. It makes her feel like she should look away, feel like she's doing something dirty just by watching him take his shirt off to shake some of the sand out of it, but her eyes are hooked there. Beautiful.  
That is, until he turns around to grab for his watch after draping his shirt over his shoulder. “Do you mind?” He asks, and she doesn't understand his question by the look on her face, “If I go like this? It's blazing hot.”  
She's stuck for a second. Her brain is still on alarm mode, going wow, but then the other, more sensible piece of her is saying stop thinking about him like this. “Not at all.” She says, getting up, shaking her cardigan off and brushing his jacket off that's been worn around her waist, “As long as you take your jacket.” She has sensible reason to ask of that. It's heavy, weighing her down even more than this heavy heat is.   
Nodding, he reaches out to take it, and they begin their journey without another word.  
..  
…  
About halfway to the road, she can't stand the silence anymore. “You said you were picking up your son, right?” She asks, looking over at him only briefly so she doesn't get caught on his beautiful body again.  
He gives a slight nod, “Yes, he's four. My ex-wife has him during the weeks and I get him on the weekends. And this weekend,” He pauses to sigh, loud and annoyed, “We were supposed to watch Maleficent for the first time.”  
“A four year old and Maleficent?” says Regina, turning to look at him again, but this time with a shocked expression. “You don't think he'll get scared by it?”  
Robin shakes his head and repositions the shirt and jacket on his shoulder, “He loves movies with lots of action. He's a lot like me, in some ways, and that's one of the traits he received from me.”  
Regina gives a little laugh, making her feel a little more full and not so hollowed out with fear, “I guess you'll have quite the story for him when you get him back, then.” She says, not even considering the chance that they may never see their loved ones again until the last word escapes her mouth, and then she tilts her head and looks down, “If-”  
“If. Exactly.” He says, and that ends the conversation again.  
Which is okay with Regina, because she doesn't want to talk anymore. She doesn't want to hear how she may never see Emma's son again, who is more like her adopted son. They do everything together when she can, and when he's out of school. They have the absolute best time, and she hates that he's growing up so quick. They just celebrated his tenth birthday a week or two ago, and her heart absolutely aches because of the “if”. If she never sees him again. If she finds him stabbed somewhere with Emma and her boyfriend. If they never get to have sprinkle donuts on Saturday mornings again. If they never get yelled at by Emma for eating sprinkle donuts again. If last Thanksgiving was the last one she would ever get to spend with them again.  
If was eating her up, making her sweat more than she needs to be. And this hot sun. “Weatherman got it wrong. I don't feel the cold winter he was talking about.”  
Robin, being ever-so-sarcastic, shrugs and replies with, “It's not winter yet.” before looking at her with a smug smirk.  
“Where you come from, isn't it like...winter all the time or something?”  
“Where I come from?” He asks, furrowing his brow. “Are you suggesting I'm from the UK?”  
Her brow raises, giving him a look as they're nearing the road, “Your accent is suggesting you're from the UK.”  
With that, he gives a guilty smile and looks down, “I am from the UK. But I moved her when I was eight years old, and my accent mostly comes from my parents having this accent.” He states, keeping his head down and watching his feet as he walks. “And no, I don't have a good American accent when I try, either.”  
She huffs a little laugh, but gets interrupted by the sudden, heavy gust of wind. She hisses a curse word underneath her breath as sand invades her mouth and gets stuck on her tongue, groaning, “I will be so glad to have a drink of water.” and never even replying to his story.  
Too busy with her thoughts again. He's from the UK, but why did he move here? How, after all these years, does he still have the accent even though he surely has been moved away from his parents? She wants to ask everything about him, wants to know more and more, but feels that she shouldn't. She doesn't really want to tell him about her life, so she shouldn't pry on his.  
But...he seems willing to talk. He doesn't seem mind the conversation as long as you give him a topic to speak on. It holds her attention, too, takes her minds off of things for a little while and doesn't make her feel the need to die in a hole. He makes her feel nice, in a really friendly kind of way.  
Since they're crossing the road, now, she keeps her questions for a later time and focuses on the situation in front of them. They breeze past the car and straight into the store, neither of them were wanting to admit that they were too afraid to look inside and see if there really was anyone in there. It would either mean seeing a dead, charred body (if it was still even in a body form), or it would mean their assumptions were true that no one was driving the car. And cars can't drive themselves...it doesn't happen that way.  
They had left the door unlocked last night since there wasn't really a need to have it locked. Also, they were rushing to get out of the door so badly that it never crossed either mind.   
Regina is down the breakfast pastry aisle, looking at the packages of Poptarts and honey buns. Robin is around the counter, grabbing grocery bags to stuff things in. “If we go back to our vehicles any time soon, I have a satchel in my back seat. I should've grabbed it last night...but I wasn't...” And his voice trails off, but she doesn't need to hear his voice to know what he's saying. He wasn't expecting this.   
Neither of them were. By this time, Regina should've been still in bed, hungover, cursing the light, and taking advil. Not stealing food and drinks for their lives.  
He brings the grocery bags back to her, and she has grabbed three boxes of Poptarts – strawberry, blueberry, and brown sugar and cinnamon, and then stuffs them into the bag. “We should have plenty of breakfast, in case we need more supplies than we're expecting.” She says reassuringly, no need not to be assured when there's two weeks worth of Poptarts in the bag. “Grab anything you think we need.” She says to him, looking up and swallowing hard.   
They haven't discussed how long they think they may be stranded like this, but neither of them really have any idea.  
But he nods, stalks off to the next aisle with some miscellaneous items such as rope, gloves, and to their luck, a few beach bags hanging up. He takes one and grabs one for her, throwing it over the aisle to her, “Here, better than the flimsy grocery bags. And we can carry these a lot easier.” He says, already filling his up with the rope and gloves, medicine, and water.   
She transfers the Poptarts into the beach bag, then gets a few bags of the family-size chips, and a few packages of hot dog buns. Bread is filling and it's easy to wrap up – it shouldn't get stale. “I think I've got all I can hold.” She says, but he's not really paying attention.   
His eyes are focused on the sunglasses on a rack, “We really should buy something to protect our heads and eyes from the heat.” He says, browsing casually through the floppy-style hats that are next to the sunglasses. He takes on and sets it on his head, and when she walks over, he sets one on her head too.   
He makes her smile a little with his goofy look, he looked like a tourist that's just gotten back from Florida. He had oversized sunglasses (that she's pretty sure are women's sunglasses...), a floppy hat, and no shirt. Definitely a tourist kind of look. “You look like a complete dork.”  
He smiles, tells her it's a good thing, and picks out a pair of sunglasses that she surprisingly ends up liking once she takes a look in the little mirror.   
But, when she looks past the mirror and out of the glass, over to the car that's seared, she remembers why they're here. To survive. “We should get going.” She says, becoming solemn and firm in her tone, repositioning the bag on her shoulder before he nods.  
“One last thing.” He says, rushing over to the counter again, rummaging through a few cabinets and drawers before pulling out a knife used to open cardboard boxes, and another knife that looks like it was used to cut the food that they have ready in the heaters. He gave that one to her, “It's more protection. Keep it in your back pocket, blade down, don't lose it. If I'm not around-” He cuts himself off, and it sounds to her like he choked on his own words, “If I'm not around, it's the only protection you have. And if I don't survive, then you sure as hell need to.”  
Again, her curiosity is getting to her and she wants to ask why. So she does, and tilts her head while she waits for his answer. “I mean, why do you care if I survive or not?” She asks, adding onto her original question.  
He shrugs, shakes his head, “It's the honorable thing to do.”  
He's an honorable man, she'll give him that. But risking his life for a stranger?  
..  
…  
“Game plan. We need one.” She says after they set all of their things down at the opening of the cave. She sits down on one of the rocks and looks out, “It's too bad there's no such thing as magic, we could just shield the opening.” She says, thinking out loud.  
He's taking something out of the bag, and she sees it's tape.   
“Are you going to tape us in?” She asks.  
“No, I'm going to tape the food up on the wall. Coyotes can't get into it this way.”  
Oh. That makes much more sense than taping the opening up. “Right.” She says, playing it off like she was just testing him.  
She was more quiet on the walk back here, since there wasn't much to say. They'd both peeked into the car from afar, and both were pretty sure they wanted to keep quiet about what they saw. Nothing.   
It gets awkwardly quiet in here until his watch beeps, the 12:00 alarm. “So-” They both say in unison, each of them trying to break the silence.  
Regina laughs a bit, scratches her arm, “Um,” She continues, being the one to start better conversations, “We need to figure this out, anyway. How are we going to get to a bigger city?” She asks, still scratching the side of her arm.  
“The next biggest city is Phoenix, and that's about as big as it gets. Where was the last place your GPS said we were in?” He asks, looking away from her and taping the food bag up on the side like he said he was going to do.  
“Amado.” She says, looking up at him attentively.   
“And where were you headed?”   
“Sahuarita.” She says, “That's where my cousin, Emma, just moved.”  
He stops what he's doing, shifts on one leg and looks back with furrowed brows, “How the hell did you end up in Amado then?” He asks, shaking his head.  
Becoming defensive, she scoffs, “Well where were you headed?”  
There's a pause, and that's when she knows she's won. This fight is hers. One for her, zero for him (because the winter/weatherman thing doesn't count in her book). She stands up and puts her hands on her hips, waiting for his answer after he turns back to the bag. “Green Valley.” He admits quietly.   
“Ah! So you went even further than me past your destination!” She exclaims, beginning to do that dramatic, slow clap. “Good job.”  
He finishes with the bag and turns to her, “We both have knives, I suggest you cut the sarcasm.” He says, making an unintentional pun that she caught, but he didn't. And when she let out a quiet laugh, he didn't think it was as funny. So she stopped, and went back to her rock before he started to speak again, “Okay, so our GPS took us both out of the way. Way out of the way. And the next nearest city should be Tuscon, not Phoenix. So we're at least...oh gosh I don't even know how far.” He groans, putting both hands to his face and rubbing up and down.  
She thinks to herself that he shouldn't do that. He's going to give himself wrinkles, but that's just the dermatologist in her. Being a doctor in the skin field, it makes her also want to later in sunblock, but unfortunately they only had one bottle had the convenience store and they had to conserve the best they could.  
But then when he goes up and pushes against his face, she thinks maybe he should keep doing that, because it flexes his pectoral muscles. At one point, she's wondering if he's doing that on purpose.   
“Okay, so we need to get to Green Valley at least to see if there's anyone there. If there's no one there, we go to Sahuarita and check it out.” He says, stopping there, though she can tell If it's not there, we go to Tuscon is on the tip of his tongue. And she doesn't want to hear it as much as he doesn't want to say it, so they both stay quiet about it, continuing their plan, “We need to get better transportation than our feet, though.”  
She nods, “Mine are killing me.” She says, though she ditched the heels in the store for a pair of flip-flops. Even though those were here favorites, she decided that comfort was better in this situation. “I haven't walked this much since – never.”  
He agrees with a nod and replies, “Next car that goes by, hopefully one will...we're catching it and we're taking it.”  
It makes her stomach absolutely flip.  
Her mind is off on a trail, wondering why he likes to flirt with danger. Why can't they just walk? They did it once, it's about two hours away...they would be okay to walk instead of catching a moving car with no passenger. But he's pretty much been deemed the leader, and she's okay with that. She's trusted him this far, she can trust him a little more.  
They camp out in the cave for a few hours, looking at the perfect view to watch for cars. None had gone by, and he was starting to get antsy. She tried to calm him down with smalltalk, but it wasn't working. Nothing will work until he finds his way back home.  
She stands up upon seeing something flash off in the distance, “Robin,” She alarms him, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand lain gently over her brow, “A car.”  
He jumps up as soon as her tongue made the c sound, knowing she wouldn't alarm him for any other reason than that or a coyote. He searches for what she's seeing, and finds it, “Run.” He says in a deep tone, almost deep enough that she couldn't hardly hear what he said.  
But before she could ask him to repeat, he was five feet ahead of her and sprinting. “Wait!” She shouts with a little annoyance, “I can't run as fast as you!”  
She's trying. Her legs aren't as long, unfortunately, and her flip-flops want to get stuck in the sand more than his tennis shoes do. But she is trying, and she's already about to die from the heat. He slows down a bit, letting her catch up, and then takes her by her wrist and gives her a bit of a pull while he runs, making it a little bit easier on her, somehow.  
“How are we catching it?” She breaths, trying to conserve as much oxygen as possible. “Jumping on it?”  
He nods, “Exactly that – jumping on it. We jump, break the window, get in, and I stop the car. I'm driving.” He warns, almost to the road now.   
The car is about 50 feet away from them, traveling at a normal pace like the one last night was. When they stop, he yells to be prepared for the signal to jump. She tries to prepare herself, but the adrenaline rush is getting to her, she's not as aware mentally as she should be.  
They wait only a few seconds before he starts counting to three, and they jump. It ended up to be a pickup truck, and he jumped from the passenger's side and onto the door, holding on by standing on the running board and grabbing the mirror. She jumps and barely catches the bed of the truck, skinning her knee on the moving tire under her. She hisses another curse word, wishing she would've started the gym workout like Emma suggested so she could pull herself up into this. But Robin is already in the cab, and the truck is finally coming to a halt.  
Once it's stopped, she places her foot on the tire and almost falls down onto the asphalt. Her knee is worse than she'd originally thought, it's bloodied and already bruised. Robin comes around to her side, examining the wound immediately, “What happened?!” says Robin, exclaiming while raising his eyebrows into a worried expression, “Oh gosh, did you break it?”  
“No.” She grumbles, limping over to the bumper. He helps her sit down, and she gives him a look, “I don't understand why I had to jump if you were just going to get in and stop it anyway.”   
He's squatted down, getting a closer examination of her kneecap while replying, “Because if I couldn't get it to stop, you'd be in the bed of the truck. You could climb through that back window right there, and we could safely crash it.”  
“Safely crash it?” She mocks, furrowing her brow, “I'm beginning to think you're out here to get me killed, Robin.”   
There goes truces.   
“I wasn't even the one who wanted to catch a stupid car in the first place! I wanted to walk!” She argues, getting angry. The heat was getting to her already; the stress, the nerves, and anxiety.  
“Calm down.” He warns, never breaking his collected tone, “I'm not out to kill you, and I wouldn't want to have you left behind even if it did mean you getting a bloody knee.” He says, standing up and stepping onto the bumper beside her.  
In the bed of the truck, there was two duffle bags. She hears him rummaging through something behind her and she turns to pry, “What are you doing?”  
“Whoever these people were, they were going on vacation this week. Men's and women's clothes, and they look about our sizes. Along with other things that we need to bring back to the camp.” He says, now, finally losing his calm tone.   
She doesn't understand how he's stayed so calm this long, but it practically infuriates her and makes her want to bloody his knee and show him how it feels to be injured for no reason.   
“A map.” He announces, unfolding it and sitting down on the bumper again, “Okay, we're right here. This is Amado,” He tells her, pointing to a spot on the map (and it means absolutely nothing to her. This is why she has a digital GPS). “We need to get here,” pointing to another spot, “Just for the night, so we can get fresh water to clean up in and doctor your knee.”  
“I'm fine.” She grumbles, flipping her ebony hair that's fallen out of the ponytail to behind her ear.   
“You're not.” He counters, becoming stern with her and making her feel like a child. She hates it.  
But she doesn't argue.  
..  
…  
Two duffles with clothes, towels, and shoes, rope, food, and water bottles are rattling in the back of the truck as they use the four-wheel drive to go across the sand and to the small pond. Their hats and sunglasses are no longer needed and are setting in the back seat of the truck. She has a water bottle that's over halfway drunk, and she'd realized soon that she was so cranky because she was dehydrated.   
“There's no shelter here, but we can sleep in the back of the truck. It's elevated and we can use the bags as pillows, and the towels as blankets.” He says, sounding like he's thought this through already – which he probably did on the way here. Probably why he was so quiet.  
She nods in reply, not needing to say anything other than that. She was still a little mad at him for making her jump, but she was beginning to see his side of the story, too. He did have a point, even if she didn't want to admit it.   
Once the truck is backed up to the pond and they're both out, she limps over to the tailgate and opens it up. Immediately, they start working together to get a few things out and put them in the cab of the truck for the night so they have a place to sleep. “This is giving sleeping under the stars a whole new meaning.” She murmurs, getting a pair of pajamas and a t-shirt from the duffle bag before turning around.  
She shouldn't have turned, because there he is, completely naked in the pond. She looks back to the truck, gasping when she let's it sink in what she'd just seen. Should I look again? No. No, she doesn't. She walks back to the cab of the truck, opens the door, and sits in there until he comes over and tells her she can go ahead and bathe, he's finished.  
Thankfully, he's dressed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Best read on FanFiction.net!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Contains thoughts of suicide

“I'm not sleeping beside you.” says Regina, almost whining after arguing back and forth with him for probably five minutes. “I don't care if it's the only bed. I'll sleep on the ground if I absolutely must.”   
Though, she's not crazy about the idea, but she doesn't necessarily want to sleep next to a man she just met, either.  
Robin huffs, “Regina, I'm not going to let you sleep on the ground. It's cool out here, almost cold. There's coyotes and who knows what else. I'll sleep in the cab if I must. I told you that I'd protect you and I will keep my word.”  
She's been looking down the whole time after he said he won't let her. Her arms are crossed in front of her stomach, and her toes are dancing inside the tennis shoes, wanting to draw a line in the sand subconsciously but never letting herself do it. Her knee is still rough looking, that early stage of scabbing is always gross. She whines again, “But-”  
“Or you can sleep in the cab. Don't care.” He says, cutting her off.  
He's considerate, at least. But why? Is he just some sort of genuinely nice man? Right, there's none of those around anymore. With her experience, there's no nice men around. The last two men in her life broke her heart, and the other one was killed before he ever probably had the chance. Men aren't something she has a hard interest in, at least not for a while. “Fine. I'll just sleep in the bed and you can sleep back here with me.” She says, climbing up onto the bumper and crawling across the tailgate and into the blankets and pillows. She kicks her tennis shoes off and lays them neatly on the edge of the tailgate before covering herself up with the blanket (unfortunately only one, so they'll have to share). As soon as her head hits the pillow underneath her, she closes one eye and peeks the other up at him, “If you try anything, Robin Locksley, that knife is going straight in your wrist.”  
A sly smirk makes her huff, and he nods before kicking his shoes off and laying them beside hers, crawling up next to her (but not too close. In fact, as far as possible with still being covered with blankets), and covering himself up. “I won't. Mostly because I don't want a knife in my hand, I'll need that.”  
The reply makes her smile, but still makes her want to roll her eyes at the same time just because of how smug he is sometimes. They've only known each other one full day, and he's already driven her up numerous walls, so-to-speak.  
“Goodnight.” She says, turning over and facing toward the wheel-well, covered with the black plastic liner.  
She hears him turn over as well, but she's not sure whether it's toward her or away from her, “Goodnight.” He murmurs sleepily.  
In about five minutes, she turns slightly to see him asleep, and he's turned toward her. I told you I'd protect you plays back in her mind, makes her smile a little before turning back and going to sleep.  
They're both so worn out from the sun and walking, and just from their strung out nerves in general. They still have no idea what's going on, and they're going to be risking their lives again tomorrow to try and find out.  
..  
…  
The next morning, he was already awake when she woke this time. She looked down at her watch around her wrist, reading 8:30.   
Sitting up and stretching out a little, she yawned and looked around to see him tending to a fire. A fire? Does she even want to know why he would be starting a fire in upper 70 degree weather?   
No. She decides it's a no. She doesn't want to know.  
That's until she smells something. Something. She can't tell what it is until she sees something over the fire, and it's some sort of animal she thinks. He sees her awake and looks over, “It isn't something I caught. It's a few hot dogs.” He says, and she kind of makes a face that says oh and scratches her head. “I took some from the store yesterday in hopes that they would stay good, and they didn't smell this morning...” He says, shrugging.  
The thought makes her stomach churn a little, knowing they could possibly be spoiled and maybe that's how everyone disappeared...the hot dogs. No...not it. The whole population of this town couldn't have died because of a few bad hot dogs.  
“So you're really not sure?” She asks while putting her shoes back on her feet (she's given thanks multiple times for the tennis shoes from the duffle bag being the same size shoe as hers).   
Shaking his head, he answers, “Not really.” And shrugs again like it's completely normal to eat possibly rotten hot dogs.   
She sighs and slides off the tailgate, taking the “bed” apart and folding it up to be stuffed in the toolbox in the back of the truck. “Great, we could be killed before we save our lives.” She murmurs sarcastically, putting the blankets and pillows away.  
Thankfully, she feels well-rested – something she feels will be an aid for today. She's afraid their journey ahead is long.  
Once the hot dogs are finished, he gives one to her on a stick. “Where did you get the stick?”  
“We may not have a radio anymore...” He admits guiltily, looking to the hood of the truck and seeing the antenna is missing.  
She smiles a bit, thankful for the creativity of this man she got stuck with. “Did we really need one anyway? I talk most of the time.”  
That makes him smile as well, nodding and replying, “That's absolutely true.” and doesn't really seem to have a problem with her talking.  
Throughout breakfast, they talk little about their plans, and mostly stay silent to just enjoy the somewhat good food. (Better than Poptarts for the third time in the last 24 hours). Toward the end, Regina tells him she's a little nervous about the day, and she's starting to miss her family. He agrees, says he misses Roland too, but that's all they say to each other until they get in the truck again.  
Truth is, she misses her family a lot. All the thought of them possibly being dead and she and Robin being the only two people left...it made her feel sick to her stomach. She misses them, and she's worried for them more than anything. She just hopes they're safe, hopes they're all okay.  
He sits in the driver's seat, and she's in the passenger seat, studying the map. “So we're going to Green Valley to see if...?” She says, waiting for him to fill in the blank.  
“To see if we can find anyone there. It's the next largest town, so I'm really hoping there's someone who can tell us what happened to all of these people.” He says, putting his seatbelt on and turning the truck on.  
She nods, setting the map on the console once it's all folded, and puts her seatbelt on too. Tightly.  
He starts the truck and glances down at the gas meter before putting it in drive, off to see if they're really the only people around.  
Hours later, they're still on a desolate stretch of asphalt, only the desert on either side of them. She's wondered at least twice if they're even getting anywhere, or if they're somehow going in a continuous loop. Her thoughts come to ideas, and those ideas begin to come true when it's three hours in and they've found nothing.   
She looks over at him. He's concentrated, his jaw is clenched, and she's wondering what he's thinking about. Are they really going in a circle? They couldn't be. That would only be possible in a magical world...and who has magic? Certainly not them, if they did they'd both be with their family in their homes. But her thoughts keep going, keep trying to rationalize the situation in front of them. “Are we almost out of gas?” She asks when his eyes keep glancing down.  
He nods, “We should be there by now.” says Robin, shaking his head and gripping the steering wheel tighter.   
They should be somewhere by now. Secretly, they're both wishing they would've grabbed their GPS out of their cars, even though they're both broken maybe they would at least tell where they are.  
It's the heat of the day, and they've turned the A/C off to keep from using extra gas. Both of them are sweating – even in the cooler Arizona weather it's still mid-eighty degrees. She reaches up to wipe her forehead off when she feels the sweat trickling down her temple. “It's getting really hot.” She says, sticking her arm out of the window now.  
He only answers with I know and keeps his solemn, straight face going – it's getting more and more serious by the mile.  
Another thirty minutes pass, and they're scared they're about to run out of gas. That won't be good at all, obviously, because they're miles away from that gas station and it pretty much is unusable. Scorched, actually.  
“What's that up there?” She suddenly spits out, perking up and sitting straight, pointing at a place coming up on the right.  
“Looks like a house.” He says, pressing the gas pedal down and going at least 100 MPH now.   
She's glad she put the seatbelt on tightly, glad that she has a handle to hold onto and dig her fingers into. She feels her jaw tighten and wonders after it starts hurting her if she looks like he does now.  
The truck is starting to sputter just as they reach the driveway, and when they turn it starts to give out from the gas swishing to the other side. Thankfully, they can get it out of the road and park it up beside the house.  
Neither of them are in a big hurry to get inside this place, because they're both pretty sure it's empty and very sketchy. So they slowly get the bag out and he holds the strap tightly in his fist. “Ready?” He asks, pulling her from her little bit of fear.  
After she nodded, they start walking toward the rickety old steps. Why is she doing this? Why shouldn't she just stay back...? She should...she should just wait in the truck and hold it down until Robin gives the okay. She's sure it'll be okay. Right?   
The house is an old, weathered gray color. It looks like it may have been white, once upon a time. But now, it's speckled with dark patches from where the paint has chipped, and faded from it's original bright white into a dull tone. The steps are only concrete cinder blocks up to the wooden porch, and she wonders if that'll even hold their weight from the rickety looking boards that are laid across. The mid-day Arizona sun is making the porch shady, both in the amount of light and in the spookiness of it.  
No big deal.  
When there's no answer to their knock on the chipped red, wooden door, they both decide make a mutual decision to just go in.   
It's dark inside – only the dull light from the broken windows is illuminating the room and not doing a great job of it. The hardwood floors creak beneath the weight of their bodies. She stays close behind him, not realizing how shaky she is until he grabbed her wrist from in front. “You're shaking right against me and making me nervous.” He hisses, a hint of irritation ringing in his hushed tone. She makes a face behind him, walking when he walks.  
The curtains are still up, and there's still furniture here. Though, the coyotes have definitely been vacating this place just as they are now, because there's claw marks in the couch and some of the curtains are only hanging by luck. The floral material on the couch cushions are covered with stuffing, and some blood here and there.   
She didn't notice that he's walked on, but when she realizes it she automatically calls out his name louder than she should've, and a bat comes flying out of an open kitchen cabinet. She lets out a bloodcurdling scream and ducks down, covering her head and hunching over.  
He rushes back in with the duffle bag and gives her an alarmed look, “Stay behind me.” He hisses, shaking his head.  
She rolls her eyes when he turns back again, wishing he wouldn't treat her like a child. Though, apparently she needed to be treated like that sometimes, since she could've just gotten them killed right then.  
“The rooms are all clear. It's one bedroom, you can have the bed. I'll take the couch.” He says, setting the bag down and beginning to unpack a few things out of it.  
“We're just staying here?”   
“Yes,” He replies, stopping and looking at her, “We have no way to get anywhere other than by foot. Do you really want to walk?”   
She shifts her weight and crosses her arms, not wanting to answer this question. She just wants to go home. She doesn't care if she finds anyone in this damn Green Valley, she wants to see Henry and Emma and even Mary-Margaret. She misses her family, her job, home, bed, real food...everything.  
“No.” She finally replies, shaking her head, “I don't. But how do you think we're going to find anyone by just living in this house the rest of our lives, Robin? We have to find someone and get us out of this...this...” She stops when she doesn't really know when she's trying to say. This what? What is this? “This!” She yells, suddenly losing it and getting upset and angry, “I want to go home, Robin. I want to have my life back, not be scared for it by running around on creepy desert roads and camping out in coyote-filled deserts. I don't want this. I want my son back and my-” She stops again, but she feels her face flush with fear when she realizes she called Henry her son.  
He has this look of utter confusion, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes, “You didn't tell me you had a son.”  
“I don't. He's not...he isn't mine.” She stutters, shaking her head. “He's Emma's, my cousin's. I take care of him a lot, and he's just like a son to me now.” She tries to explain, “Emma would be beyond livid if she heard me call him my son.”  
He's not convinced, but he nods to just let the subject go. “I know you want your life back, so do I. I miss my son, my home, my car...I miss all of it too. I miss not running for my life and not having to be protecting someone else's life all the time. But damn it, Regina, that's what we have.” He snaps, startling her a little from his sudden burst of anger. “I never asked for this either. I was trying to get to my son and who the hell knows if he's alive? Do you ever stop thinking about yourself?”  
Her arms cross tighter against her stomach, suddenly feeling sick. Sick enough to leave the room, that's a definite. She sits on the couch, and hopes that no one actually died on this thing, otherwise she'll be traumatized forever. The wind is chilling coming through the broken windows, and it's making her tears cold as soon as they hit her cheeks.  
To keep from letting him see the tears, she brings her knees up and bends them, burying her face into them. Her arms wrap around above her shins, scraping over the nasty scab from her fall. “I don't feel like speaking right now.” She murmurs into the kneecaps, shaking her head when she feels him in the room, hearing the floor creak again.  
“Good, I don't want to.” He says rudely, making her eyes fill up with more tears. Out of everyone in this world she had to be left with, it was him: rudest man ever. “There's two guns in the bedroom closet. One pistol, one shotgun. I'm taking the shotgun out to see if I can find any food, and you can keep the pistol in your back pocket. Keep the knife in your other pocket, you need every bit of protection you can get.” He instructs, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder and stepping toward the door.  
“You're leaving me by myself?” She asks, astounded and somewhat feared.  
He nods, never looking back at her. “I am. I'm going to look for some gasoline in this shed, too.” He says, opening the door and stepping right out onto the porch without even a little gesture such as goodbye. Didn't even feel bad for her.  
She looks up and the first thing she sees is the pistol laying on the arm of the couch. She rocks onto the balls of her feet, grabs it, and sits back against the other end like she was. Her face is red, tear-stained. She holds the gun in her fist, contemplating...wondering. Maybe he would be better off without me. There's no one left that loves me anyway. They're all gone. Everyone in the world...gone. Her hand gets shakier and shakier, every inch it moves up to her temple. She pulls the safety off, lays her finger on the trigger, and starts counting:  
One.  
“Regina, Regina! I got an A plus on my art project today.”  
“Oh, Henry, I'm so proud. I knew you could do it.” She said, picking the young boy up into her arms and giving him a big, after school hug.  
Two.  
“You never would've amounted to anything with him, anyway, Regina. Daniel is better off dead just as you're better off without him.”   
She shook her head, crying out, “He just died, mother! Can't you feel some sympathy in your cold heart?!”  
Three.  
“I forgot-” He stops, shocked at what he sees in front of him. He shakes his head, holding his feet there, “Regina, put the gun down. It's not worth it...it isn't worth it okay?” He says, his tone of voice changing but her hand never moving from it's place, just shaking more. “We'll get out of this...”  
She cries out, her whole body trembling as the tip of the gun digs into her porcelain skin, “And you're being so nice to me now?” She yells, shaking and crying harder, harder, and harder.  
“I'm sorry...I've been going through a lot too, Regina. Really...” He says, stepping one easy step toward her, “Just put it down, we'll talk some. How's that sound?” He asks, “You're probably hungry, a little bit hot and dehydrated...we'll get you fixed up.” He says, cooing at her like an abandoned puppy. A beaten child.  
Before he can take another step, the wind bursts through the window and rips the curtain rod down, making him stumble one step backward and her hair fly in front of her face. It makes a whistling noise through the broken shards, and it makes a chill run down her spine.  
She drops it – drops the gun with a clanking noise on the floor, it bounces once, and lands with the barrel pointed away from the both of them. He gathers his courage back into his body and rushes to the couch, sitting down by her feet and immediately taking the hand that had the gun in it. “Regina, I know this is hard. It's scary...beyond scary. But I've been going through the same things you have. Yes? I miss my son and my life too, and I haven't made it any easier on you. But this doesn't mean that I'm not still here to protect you, that I'm not going to keep you safe and as healthy as I can. Okay? We just...we can't be doing this anymore.” He says, the last few words come out softer than he's ever spoken to her before. “You're gonna be okay...”  
She shakes her head, “I'm not.” She says, coming out as a squeak more than anything. “I almost just killed myself, Robin. I just...there's nothing here for me. For you, even. Why are we here anymore? Why are we the last two on this wretched earth?”  
“I don't know, Regina. I don't.” He says, still holding that shaky hand in his. “But that isn't any reason to just leave me. We said we were in it together, and that still stands. Now, c'mon and let's get you some water. You're probably a little loopy right now.” He says, standing up and bringing her with him slowly and carefully to lead her to the kitchen table.  
She sits, much against her will, and looks up at him with angry, sad eyes. “Just let me die.” She begs, shaking her head. She's already set on the fact that death is her best option.  
But he isn't.  
“No, Regina. You're not letting me down, here.” He says, grabbing the food bag and getting a raw hot dog. “Here, have this. It may help you get less...delirious.” He says, already working to find a bottle of water to give to her.  
“I'm not crazy.” She counters, her voice breaking when she first starts to speak, “I'm not insane.”  
“I know you aren't. You're a very smart, beautiful woman who just needs a few things to get her back on track. That's all.” He says, trying to keep his positivity, she can tell that much even in her delusional state of mind.  
She sighs, brings her knees up again like how she was sitting on the couch, then buries her face back into them. Her wrist is all bent up between her legs to fit the hot dog between her knees, grabbing it with her mouth and nibbling a few bites here and there. She ignores his nagging voice about how she needs to eat and drink, not just pick at the hot dog. She also ignores the part when he asks if she's listening to him.   
After a few more minutes and a few swigs of water, she feels less shaky and more like herself again. But she still wishes she was dead. Every moment that passes is one more that she won't be finding Henry, won't be finding Emma or Mary-Margaret, and won't be in her home, in her bed...she wants it back and it's all hitting her like a brick wall.   
She stands up, goes to the bathroom without him asking any question. When she gets in there, she feels the odd sensation that someone is watching her. It makes goosebumps appear down her arms, her chest, legs...even her cheeks. But she continues, sitting down onto the toilet and startling when she sees the shower curtain move out of the corner of her eye.   
Her breath hitches, she keeps perfectly still and completely quiet. It moves again, and she jumps up. She backs against the door, but knows she needs to find out what's back there – whether she wants to or not. Because of her wondering conscience, she steps to the edge of the bath tub slowly, tip-toeing, and reluctantly pulls the shower curtain back little-by-little.  
What she sees makes it hard for her not to let out another bloodcurdling scream like she did earlier. It's a woman, lying in the bath tub. Her hand is just slipping from the tiled wall, but it's dripping in blood. She cries out, “Robin!” At the top of her lungs, does it a few more times before he comes in and is standing beside her.   
The woman, who seems to be still half alive, is blonde. She' has loose curls that go down to around her shoulders, and she's dressed in mostly green. She can't say anything, Regina can tell that much, but she's trying to. She points tiredly to the wall beside her before finally, taking her last breath and letting her head droop, her eyes stay open.   
Before they look at the wall, they look at each other. He takes her arm in his strong hand as a reassuring gesture, and then they look at the note written in blood, just like the last one was:  
They've disappeared.  
Those two words send the already unsteady Regina into another crying fit. She stands up, bursts out of the room, and Robin follows her as soon as he can regain his bearings. “Regina, Regina wait! Please!”  
“Robin...” She cries, shaking her head and sitting on the couch. “I knew her! Her name is Rose...Rose Bell. She used to go to school with me back in high school. Robin, they're targeting me. That means...that means Henry and Emma are dead...it means everyone I love...” Her voice trails off into more sobs, she can't contain them at all.  
She can tell he doesn't know what to say, so she just scoots over. She wants him right there. She just needs someone – anyone – to hold her. Her family are all gone, and she's the only one left.  
He takes the hint, climbing up beside her on the couch and just holding her. No words, nothing else, just holding his arms around her tightly.   
The one person they found...is dead.  
..  
…  
That night, they made another mutual agreement to just share the bed. Regina didn't want to admit it out loud, but she was scared to be by herself now. She was scared she may have another meltdown and grab for the gun, or scared something may hurt her. She just wanted Robin beside her, even though she never outwardly said it. But he knew, too, that it's what she wanted. Not like he was really going to let her do anything else, because she's completely unsteady. It makes this journey even harder from here on, and they both have no idea where to even go from here.  
But the bed is a start, because they're both mentally exhausted. They really haven't done much, but mentally...they need a long rest. That's why she doesn't even care when he wraps her completely in his arms – it makes her feel safe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Best read on FanFiction.net)

Safe.   
That's all she feels when she wakes the next morning. It's overwhelming her fear for her life – for their lives. It's drowning out the constant voice in her head, telling her to grab the gun and point it back to her head, to be strong enough this time, and to just pull that trigger. It's all in the back of her mind, because she's wrapped up in his arms while the sun is shining through brightly.  
But the first, deep breath is a doozy.  
“She's starting to smell.” She grumbles, not even checking to make sure he's awake first. With the amount of sunlight that's coming through the windows, if he isn't awake yet, he needs to be anyway.  
They sit up together, he's rubbing his face in the palms of his hands and making a sour expression when he smells the same thing – same person – that she does. “What are we going to do with her?” He asks, his voice heavy with sleep and exhaustion, still, checking his watch.  
She looks over to the wristwatch on his arm and sighs. Eight already. “I don't know. We can't leave her here if this is where we plan on staying. It's only been half a day, most of that being night time, and she's already stinking the whole house.” She answers, stretching out a little and, just now, rubbing her face too.  
He slowly pulls his left leg over the edge of the bed, his right one soon following after it's mate. He sits for a while, hands resting on the edge and his head hung down. She wonders what's running through his head, wonders if he's thinking about what happened yesterday or thinking about what the woman wrote. They've disappeared.  
The two words still sent chills up her spine, even after a night to rest on them.  
“We need to get her out of the house.” His voice almost startles her from being so deep in thought previously, “There was a shovel against the porch, we can bury her.”   
That idea makes her stomach flip, wondering how the hell they're going to drag a dead body from a tub, through the house, and into a hole. All before breakfast. Well, maybe before breakfast.  
“Can we eat first?” She asks, getting a nod from Robin.  
This time she cooks. Robin is too busy with something...she's not even quite sure what it is he's doing. Maybe looking for gas like he said he was going to yesterday, before she had her moment? She doesn't know, but she still cooks the food.  
Food: a package of Poptarts in the toaster for each of them with some butter melted over them. No gourmet meals.  
Now that she's had a night of rest, she's realizing how stupid she must've seemed to Robin yesterday. How...naive and ignorant. She's not the only one who is going through all of this, he has no idea either.  
But then again, sometimes she wonders if he really is clueless about everything going on. He's so much calmer, so much more relaxed and okay with the happenings. She knows she misses his son, supposedly, but is the son even real? Everything around her is being questioned in her mind. She's confused still, but the smell of Poptarts are bringing her back to reality.  
By the time the two Poptarts for him are laid out on a plate she found, he's back inside with a can of gas and a dead squirrel, hanging it by it's tail. “Lunch.” He states, holding it up a little bit more. “I'm going to go clean it now.”  
“Now? But breakfast is ready and we need to get her out of this house.” She argues, shifting her weight to one leg.  
She regrets it as soon as she says it, because that angry side of him immediately comes out with her last word. “I don't need you telling me what I should do, Regina. I know.” He snaps in a low tone before walking out with his catch.  
In any other circumstances, she would've shot back to him with something snarky and sarcastic, completely rude and just more fuel for the fire. But today she holds off, she's not ready for that confrontation yet. She isn't stable enough.  
So she gets her Poptarts, melts butter over them, and eats by herself at the table with the stench of half-day old dead body smuthering her nostrils.  
..  
…  
He hasn't come back. It's been an hour and she can't find him. Worry sank in roughly fifteen minutes ago, and now she's wondering if he was planning on leaving or if he got lost somehow, or maybe there's actually someone else alive in this world and they took him.   
They should've taken me, she thinks, if that's the case.   
She scoots the chair away from the table, taking a refreshing breath before heading toward the door.   
“Robin?” She calls before stepping out the door with the pistol tucked away in her back pocket. Her hand reaches slowly for it when she hears a grunt. Another sound, and her hands are both on the handle with her finger turning the safety off immediately. “Robin...this isn't funny.” She says, a bit of shakiness in her voice. “Don't mess with me.”  
Not like she is. Not today...not after what happened yesterday. She isn't ready for so-called jokes and games.   
She holds the gun with between shaky hands, readying herself to turn that corner and find the worst by closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.  
She turns, flinging one leg across the other so her body faces him, pointing the gun straight at him. “What the hell are you doing?” She snaps, looking down for a moment and back up. She sticks the gun in her pocket again and rushes forward to get him, helping him up onto his feet again.   
“A coyote attacked me.” He announces, showing off the scratched side of his face and the mauled ankle under his pant leg. “I need something to dull the pain. It's taking over my body.” Robin states, already shaking from either the adrenaline or the pain, she isn't sure.  
As she helps him in the house, hobbling with him and trying to get him into the bed, she hears another coyote howling loudly outside. Her head whips to the side to look out of the window, hoping she would see it there and be close enough for a good shot.   
Only, nothing was there.  
“Here, I'm going to go get you some ice from the freezer to put on that. I don't have medicine and...no herbs or anything. Even if I knew how to use them.” She says frantically, already making her way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to the freezer, grabbing ice and putting it in a bag from the pantry. She brings it back in as quickly as she can, smelling something that alarms her senses but she ignores due to the situation.  
She lays the bag of ice on his leg as gently as she can, looking up and tucking her hair behind her ear, “Leave it on for no more than thirty minutes. It'll numb some of the pain.”  
With a few silent minutes sitting at the end of his feet, he finally speaks up, asking, “How do you know what to do?” and groaning, his voice still thick with pain.  
She gets herself comfy, ready for this story she's about to tell. Maybe it'll help take his mind off his pain, anyway. “Henry. My cousin's son. He spends a lot of time with me. One night, we were playing in the backyard and I kicked the ball to him, but the grass was just slightly wet and he slipped and fell. He would've been fine if it weren't for his ankle getting crushed underneath him. Poor kid, he cried out in pain so hard that it made my heart hurt.” She says, looking down and playing the memory back in her mind like it had happened yesterday.  
That's not what happened yesterday.  
“Did it break?” He asks, seeming somewhat interested in the outcome of the story (but really, he was just trying to take his mind off of the severity of the wound).  
She nods, “Fractured, in two places. But the ice numbed his ankle enough to where he at least wasn't screaming. He was only seven...poor baby. I felt horrible for letting him get hurt.”  
“Well, it wasn't exactly your fault.” He throws in, shrugging and trying to get himself comfortable without moving too much.  
She nods so she doesn't have to speak and lie to him. It was, because she should've known to not be playing on the wet grass. But she doesn't want to argue, not anymore. Not since that's what set her off yesterday, for the most part. “You should try to get some rest. It may do you some good.”  
He growls low in his throat, putting the top of his forearm on his forehead, “I don't want to rest. I need to be up and looking for a can of gas so we can get the hell out of this place. I don't want to be here anymore.”  
“I don't either.” the edge clear in her voice, having to calm herself with a deep breath to continue. “But guess what? Nature apparently wants us here, so that's where we're going to stay until you're healed.” and a motherly tone now rings in her voice, the stern kind when one tells her offspring to stop whining or to clean their room. “Get some rest and I'll...cook that squirrel. It'll be ready for you when you wake.”  
He argues that it's a big enough squirrel for the both of them, but she doesn't argue back. He's tired, he's in pain, and he's looking to pick a fight that she's not up for right now.  
The squirrel excuse, though, was a pure lie. She isn't going to cook the squirrel yet. She's going to go outside and look for the gas can so they can get out of here and find humanity, if there is any.  
That's why she's already outside – once she knows he's sound asleep – and digging through the shed. Her pistol is still in her back pocket, ready to be used if needed. A scramble has already startled her, but it turned out to be a pesky rat that scurried out of one of the many piles of junk. So much junk. A curse word spewed from her lips, but thankfully the rodent was just as scared of her as she was scared of it.   
“I just need gas for this insipid truck.” She murmurs to herself, digging through things (a little more carefully, now, afraid she might see that rat's friend or it's children. Or worse, a snake, because where rodents are...snakes are going to be).  
The little bit of red sticking out from under a work bench finally catches her eye, and she grabs the handle and picks the full can of gas up with much of a victorious expression on her face. A smile, even. Hopefully it'll take them as far as they need to get.  
..  
…  
“This feels like a hopeless endeavor, Robin.” She whines as he leans against the truck, filling up the tank from the can she found. “I mean, we haven't found anyone for how many miles now? Why would we find someone now?”  
“Because maybe we were just looking in the wrong places.” He snaps, still in plenty of pain.  
Her eyes roll and just about get stuck in the back of her head from his stupid remark. “Oh, because there's so many places to look in the desert, right?”  
“Right.” He answers, and it makes her just that much more irritated.  
By the time he's finished, she's already sitting in the truck and fuming over how stupidly naive he is sometimes. It infuriates her. They're stuck in the middle of a desert and he acts like it's some kind of vacation or play time. Ridiculous. She wishes that he would see it seriously just once and stop acting like a teenage boy sometimes.   
Sometimes, in some cases, it's been nice to have that goofy, teenage boy attitude around. If she hadn't, she would've gone even more insane than she already has by now. But he's kept her grounded, he's been her anchor for a while now. Or what feels like a while. Really, it's only been a few days since their cars crashed in the freak accident.  
“Thanks for helping me get to my door.” Robin gripes as he slams the driver's door shut, turning the truck on and putting it in gear, peeling out of the loose-gravel driveway  
Arms are crossed in the passenger seat, pouting. “You're welcome, smart ass.”  
“You have some real nerve, Regina.” He snaps, going at least 80 already. That's a great way to conserve gas. “I come this close to getting eaten by a coyote. My ankle is pretty much unusable. So what do you do? Pout because you think there's no point in us wasting gas. Well guess what, I want to get home.”  
“And so do I!” She explodes, her arms suddenly uncrossing and flailing out. One to the side, one in front of her. “I want to get home and get back to my normal life, in case I haven't been clear about that. But Robin, I swear, it's like we went in a damned circle the other day and suddenly this stupid house pops up that has forever scarred my memory. You're the one with some real nerve to think that I don't want to get home for some completely idiotic reason.”  
Silence. Silence, silence, silence.   
“I'm not going to sit here and be belittled in your head, Robin. We're both clearly tired of this stupid little game that something or someone is playing on us.”  
He finally has slowed down to 64 MPH, thankfully. The movements of his chest show her that he's about to say something he'll either regret soon after or she's made him madder. “I think I know what's going on.” He finally says.  
And yes, it's one of those things he's going to regret because Regina's mouth drops open in disgust, “You know what's going on? And you've just been holding out on me this whole time?” She snaps, growing angrier and more fiery with each spewing word. “Stop the truck. I'm leaving.”  
“You're leaving? For what reason? So you can go commit suicide in peace or so you can get eaten by a coyote, which is another suicidal mission? I know you're not stupid, Regina. You're a smart woman.”  
She unlocks the door, but he hasn't slowed down a bit. Her breathing hasn't slowed, either, and it's getting hastier as she fumbles with the bag of leftover food in the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. “Stop the damn truck or tell me what's going on!” She yells, shaking from her anger and irritation.  
He locks the truck door and pulls over slowly, “I say I think I know what's going on because I overheard something at work.”  
“At work?”  
“I'm a locksmith. Someone said something about a break-in at a government facility the other day and...and I figured it was just some ridiculous gossip-girl rumor like most of the guys like to do in the lunch room.”  
“What government facility?”  
“Like I'm supposed to know?” He asks.  
Her stomach is bubbling now, the anger and frustration turning into nerves and anxiety. Heavy anxiety. She wonders the same thing she's been wondering lately...why her. Why is she and he the ones to get stuck here with no civilization.   
“Surely the government doesn't have a way to kill all of the population, and we've somehow survived. Do they?” She asks, her voice sounding more broken than she's meant for it to. When she doesn't get an answer, she looks down and fiddles with her fingers in her lap nervously. “I'm just a stupid secretary. What would they want with me?” She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “I'm nothing important.”  
She feels his eyes on her but she never looks up, never wanting to see his face to know if it's filled with disgust or hatred or love and compassion. She doesn't want to know.   
But he's going to make her know.   
Fingers land on her chin gently and pick her head up, turning it to look at him across the console. “You are important. I'm a locksmith. Do you really think I'm any more important than you, Regina?” He says in a gentle tone, and she's noticing his face isn't filled with disgust and hatred, unfortunately. His eyebrows flick upward and his head goes slightly forward in a nod as he says I'm not and slips his other hand around her shoulder, pulling her over a little to get a hug. “I don't know why they want us. I mean, a locksmith and a secretary have nothing to do with running for our lives from dead people, unmanned cars, and coyotes, but we're here.”  
Stop.  
“And honestly?” He continues.  
Stop.  
“I would've rather gotten stuck with you than anyone else.”  
Great. Now the tears are coming to surface, making her eyes moist and her eyelashes start to flutter to try and rid the tears without them overflowing. “You're only saying that because I'm upset.” And he tells her no, he really isn't. He means it. But she doesn't believe him, even though her mind is telling her to. “You feel sorry for me. You're saying it because I'm out here, I tried to commit suicide yesterday. You're saying that because you think I'm some helpless puppy dog who needs someone to scratch it's ears and throw a toy for. I'm not, Robin. I may not be important in society or important in this game, but I'm not stupid. I'm not believing you.”  
Though her mind is still telling her to just let go and believe him, she can't. She feels a wall in her chest that's barricading her thoughts from her emotions. Her emotions won't let her say that she's glad and that she believes him, but her mind is still screaming.   
“Are you going to say anything or just sit there and stare at me like-”  
It stops. Her words, her thoughts...her heart. All of it comes to a screeching halt when his lips suddenly crash onto hers, and she knows it's just a way for him to get her to shut up but she doesn't even care.  
She doesn't even care when he pulls her halfway over the console. She's too gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Best read on FanFiction.net)

It was quiet. Awkward silence between them the whole ride back to the only house they'd found. They had taken the deceased body out and dug a grave for the woman, burying her and keeping the windows open inside to air that smelly place out.  
Nothing was said about that kiss that was mostly used to shut her up. (Or was it just to shut her up? Did it mean something more? She's been debating that in her mind ever since then, discussing with herself over the possibilities that he might actually like her. But no...no liking. Not happening). Nothing was said about the body, other than that it was pretty horrid smelling.   
That's it.  
They didn't sleep together tonight. He kept watch until three in the morning, and she woke up and kept watch the rest of the time. Their eyes never met once, and it was tearing both of them apart – unraveling and dissolving them. They need more sleep than just half a night and they both know it, but neither of them are willing to talk about what happened in the cab of that truck earlier.  
Even after a day goes by...then another...and yet another. It's been five days since they've seen their loved ones, five days since they've seen other people (not counting the dead), and three days since the kiss.   
She's done much thinking about it. It was just a way to shut her up, nothing more. But if he just wanted to make her be quiet, why didn't he just put his hand over her mouth or even a cloth of some sorts? He could've slapped her. She's pretty sure he has it in him to slap a woman at this point. But why didn't he? Her thoughts have gone around and around in numerous circles, never able to stop on a reason as to why he would us his lips to quiet her unless he just wanted to kiss her.  
Which is ridiculous. They're in the middle of the desert, usually famished, overheated or ridiculously cold (no in betweens), and desperate to get back to their families. But it just doesn't stop her wandering mind from thinking about it. She feels love stricken, and it makes her sick to her stomach most of the time.  
She wonders, also, if he's thought about what he did. She wonders if it's just as awkward for him that he used his lips to shut her up, or if he's beating himself up for kissing her, or if he's wondering why the hell he touched lips with this woman.  
Neither will know because neither have the courage, still, to talk about it.  
“You'll need to cook this a little longer.” He says, holding up some rabbit meat.   
At one time, Regina would've thought this to be rude and cruel and every other horrible thing. She would've cried over the rabbit and then bought one so she could raise other little rabbits, just to maybe suffice the guilt she would feel from someone killing one. But she's only thought of how sad it is once – and the growling of her empty stomach made her forget that. She's hungry and so is he, and they both need the food.  
She answers that she will once he lays the meat on the cleaned counter, her nose wrinkles a bit at the smell but she takes it anyway and puts it into the hot pan to sear it. She's thankful that the woman that once lived here was a good chef, apparently, because she had all kinds of seasonings to use. She's silently thanked the passed woman many times, though she knows it's not like she could hear her.  
No, she's never really cooked rabbit meat. But it's been trial and error. She knew to cook it until the meat stopped being red, but then the first time she burned it, she second time she did okay. This was the third time, so she's hoping to do better. She adds the garlic powder, some salt and pepper, then some of the oil from the pantry to make it moist. Hopefully this is good, she thinks to herself as she takes it and puts it on two plates evenly.  
The searing sound always seemed to calm her nerves. Today, she was full of them. More so than usual. She'd woken up to a rattlesnake beside her head, just about to attack until Robin shot it. (Yes, right beside her head he pulled the trigger to a shotgun and killed a rattlesnake. Worst wake-up call she's had in a long time). She came only inches away to breaking her ankle while they were hunting, afterward, by stepping in a hole in the ground.   
It hasn't been a great week and the chances are slim for it to get any better.  
After they eat their rabbit for their breakfasts, they're going to be in the truck again with the last gallon of gas they could find. Nerves are high inside the cab of the truck because this is their last chance to find anyone, find any clue as to why it's just them out here.  
“How about this weather?” says Robin, finally after the long silence.  
She turns to him, brows are raised while she shrugs her shoulders a little. “Crazy.” She says, referring to how it's so hot that the pavement melts their shoes one day, and the next it's cool and breezy.   
Today, it's so hot that it would melt their shoes.   
“I wish it would rain.” She continues, folding her arms over her stomach and crossing her legs. She feels uncomfortable, has felt uncomfortable since he kissed her.   
He nods distantly and keeps his eyes on the road, and the quiet sinks over them again.  
It's like a heavy, black drape that is over the both of them. While under this “drape” they can't see their surroundings, they can't see the other, but they know they're there. They know that the other is waiting for them to talk. And they know that if they inched closer, their lips would meet again.  
She wouldn't say she was happy about the kiss, but she's not all that upset about it either. Mostly, she doesn't want to let herself think about it and how good it made her feel – how relaxed it made her afterward. She doesn't want to open herself up for those feelings to really sink in.  
Their ride stays silent, he tries the radio but nothing has been coming in which just made the long trip even longer.  
“There!” He suddenly exclaims, shaking Regina from her silence and her inner thoughts, making her startle. “There's people!”  
Her eyes widen in shock, her mouth gapes slightly as she tries to push herself up in the seat to see over the dash better. He's right! People...but... “Robin, they look-”  
“Don't say that.” He says almost immediately. “Have some hope.” He continues, driving up to the spot where they all were.  
She's right, though, and they both figure that out as they get out. “They're all dead.” He whispers, his voice broken.   
Bodies were lying all over the place. It looked like coyotes had half eaten some, and it made Regina sick to her stomach. Shuddering, she grabs her stomach as a reflex to the gag of the smell. “So much for hope.” She mumbles, not even audible to Robin.  
He's already walking toward the bodies, trying to see if any of them are alive. He examines each one – some are even children. When she sees the children, she readies herself. Readies herself for the worst that's to come, because she knows she could quite possibly see Henry in that pile of bodies.   
Why wouldn't she? Why are these bodies out here anyway? They're all in the middle of the desert, no transportation around, nothing. He could be in this mess and so could Roland, possibly, though she doesn't have any idea what he looks like.   
She imagines, though, that he resembles his father. Or at least that's the image she's had in her head of him. Robin told her he has curly brown hair, dimples, but hasn't ever told her anything else of how he looks. She believes his facial expressions are a lot like Robin's, just because his are so dominant anyway.  
“Regina,” Robin chokes out from within the heap, “Come here.”   
She makes her way slowly through the mess, making sure to not step on anyone. She's scared she will if she doesn't look down, but she's also afraid of losing every bit of rabbit she had this morning while looking at them. “What?” She asks when she finally reaches him, her arms still crossed over her stomach in a sick way.  
Robin points down with a gentle finger, replying, “Isn't this the governor of Ariz-”  
“Graham.” She breathes, gasping and letting the tears that's been welling up finally overflow onto her cheeks. “That's Governor Humbert.” She says, squatting down and picking his head and chest up.  
She can tell that Robin is shocked, but she doesn't recognize that. She just holds her previous lover in her arms and let's Robin watch from behind as she checks every pulse point.  
She knows now that there's no way she could deal with this if Henry were to be in this. Graham alone set her emotions off, and they haven't talked since he was running to be mayor of their smaller town.   
The shifting behind her catches her senses, and she recognizes it to be Robin moving back and forth. She finally decides to break down and tell him, “He was my boyfriend for a while. We were great friends, but he wanted bigger things in politics and I just...I didn't want that. We separated and we never spoke again.” She says shakily, tears now tickling her skin so she wipes them with a bloodied hand.  
He squats down and sighs, blinking and rubbing his head. His confusion is confusing her. There's a mixture of anger in with his befuddled-ness. “You're Regina Mills. Regina Mills. Arizona's previous Secretary of State.” He murmurs, his teeth are gritted and it makes her stomach flip.  
“Yes.” She whispers, “But I meant it when I said I wasn't important. I really...I am just a secretary now. I have my dermatology license and I wanted to be a doctor in that field. I'm working my way up by working at the front desk...I-”  
“But you should've told me.” He says, and she can tell he's trying to stay calm so he doesn't set her off again.   
By now, she's laid Graham back on the ground. “I should've. But it shouldn't make any difference. That was two years ago, I never made any enemies in office. I-I...wait.” She says, tilting her head. She swallows thickly as her head starts pounding, making her thoughts swirl inside of her head. “Gold. The scientist. I-I was having a meeting one day and he was talking to someone privately in the hall. I...I walked around the corner and he got mad.” She says, her voice trembling as the memories spew from her mouth.   
Robin crouches forward more, “What happened?” He asks.  
“I...I can't...” She stutters, her eyes clenched shut. “My head hurts.”   
He grabs her underneath her arms and helps her stand. “Think, Regina. Try to think...” He says, staying calm and collected. He's not going to upset her again. He's not going through that.  
“He...he took his cane from his side.”  
Robin's eyes widen, “That's why you were in the hospital. It was in the headlines.”  
She nods and looks down, “I'd forgotten who hit me. He hit me so hard and whoever he was talking to apparently didn't want to testify against him. But I wouldn't want to either...he's crazy.”  
He sighs and tilts his head, disappointed that she didn't tell him all of this, surely. “Where does he live?”  
She shrugs and looks up at him, “How am I supposed to know? Francis Gold...he's...he's just...he's mad.” She says and shakes her head, confused by her own thoughts. “Surely he wouldn't kill everyone and make me suffer? And then how would you come into play?” She asks, furrowing her brows. When he doesn't answer, she nods, “Exactly. You wouldn't. Let's just get out of this pile of corpses before another coyote comes and kills us too.” She says, but her words don't taste right. She wants to die. She doesn't want to leave people. She wants to die with them.  
..  
…  
They're back to living in a cave. They don't want to go to the house again and waste their gas, they want to go further tomorrow to see if there's anyone they can find who isn't either half-dead or completely stiff and cold.   
A few hours ago they'd said their goodnights and for the first time in a while, they weren't snuggled up to each other. They had no need to be. They had blankets for warmth and they no longer needed to share a bed (which Regina liked, preferably).  
Now, they're both sound asleep. No other sounds are emitting from anywhere around them except for their snores. She's tossing and turning, clearly not having a very good night of sleep. He's not even awake, never hears her once.  
“Regina!” Henry shouts, running to her.   
He's sprinting. Running all out. Sand kicking up behind his feet with each huge stride he takes. She tries running to him to meet him in the middle, but she's stuck. Her feet are in wet sand, sinking lower and lower. He's shouting again, “Regina! Regina!” still running as fast as he can.  
“Henry, come here...” She says happily, excitement ringing in her tone. He's still running, but she soon realizes he's not going much of anywhere. “Honey...run faster!”  
“I can't, Regina...” He yells back, looking behind him as he still sprints. Her eyes follow his gaze and they catch another little boy, roughly the age of Henry, maybe a few years younger. Close enough in age, though.  
Henry stops dead in his tracks as the other boy starts yelling, “Papa! Papa!” in Regina's direction. She looks back with wide eyes and sees Robin behind her, standing there with open arms and that goofy smile on his face.  
“Come here, my boy...come here, Roland!” He yells happily, waiting for his son to join him.  
Henry grabs Roland by the arm before Roland can run by, swings his right arm back and punches him square in the face. “HENRY!” Regina yells, flabbergasted that he would do such a thing. “Henry get off of him!” She yells, squirming to try to get away from the sinking sand (now up to her knees) to get to Roland and help him.   
Henry's still punching, whamming Roland in the face until she sees the little boy's body stop moving, stop fighting, and stop breathing. She wants to fall down, she wants to go to Henry and yell at him. She's mad, angry, and then startled as a hand lays on her shoulder.  
She turns to see Robin, his eyes puffy and red, and then her eyes close because of the fist that's coming for her face. She falls back, but can't fall to the ground due to the sand. “Control your boy, Regina!” He yells as he punches her in her jaw, making her wince and gasp in pain.  
“Robin stop!” She yells, trying to make her way out of the sand.  
He doesn't. His punches, though, have been reduced to slaps. Once he's made her face beat red, he's working on the buttons of her pants and tearing them down.   
“Robin!” She yells out desperately, “Stop this! Stop! Please!” She cries out, little by little her clothing falls to the sand she's sinking in. He steps behind her and pushes her shoulders over, making her bend at the hips.  
“You deserve punishment.” He growls.  
“Robin!” She screams, crying and looking back for Henry. He's gone. She doesn't know where he is but she sees Roland and starts crying harder. “Please...please stop!”  
“Stop what, Regina?!” Robin yells, shaking her awake. He's sitting beside her and looking straight down at her face with a frantically worried expression.  
As soon as her eyes open, she squirms away and pulls the covers up over herself, crying and screaming. “Get away, Robin!” She yells, “You're going to rape me again!”  
“Rape- what?” He asks, sitting down so he may not scare her as much. “Regina, I've...I've only kissed you. You were having a nightmare.” He explains calmly, his brows furrowed.  
She shakes her head, “It was real...” She says, shaking her head again and again until it makes her head feel light and dizzy. “Y-you...”  
“I did nothing, Regina. I kissed you a few days back...” He whispers softly, reaching out for her leg to touch gently.  
She immediately startles and pulls away, looking up at him like a scolded child. Her mind's swirling again, head pounding. She doesn't understand. It was real.  
“Regina...” Robin whispers, sitting down on his rear instead of his knees. “Have you been assaulted before?” He asks curiously, being gentle and sincere in his questioning.  
She thinks for a moment, shudders, then nods. “Leo King...” She mutters, feeling like someone who's gone insane. She feels the sudden need to rock back and forth in the fetal position, so she does. She's let her mind take over her body. “He...he tried to kill Henry...”  
“Henry?”  
“Henry.”  
“How?”   
She looks up at him finally, her eyes wild. “By...by...” She can't finish due to the choke of her throat, her tight chest and airways restricting her voice. She looks down and starts sobbing. “I was too young to have a kid...but Daniel...we...”  
“Daniel?” Robin asks, completely confused.  
“Henry's mine.” She finally admits, “He's my son. Daniel Stable is his father...he was my boyfriend in college. We...we were so young. But then Leo King...he was my professor. He found out that I'd gotten pregnant and...he-he...” She sobs again, shaking her head.  
He can't take it anymore, just wraps her in his arms and rocks with her. She lets him. She has either forgotten about her nightmare or doesn't care, just wants someone to hold her no matter who it is.   
Leo has always brought raw feelings, obviously, and she doesn't bring them up much. “He tried killing Henry by raping me. I gave him to Emma as soon as he was born because th-that way I knew he'd be safe. She's a cop...she can protect him better than I. I didn't want to, but after Leo killed Daniel...” She stops and shakes her head, looking down, “I couldn't risk losing the closest thing I had to Daniel. Henry Daniel...that's his name...” She cries, “That's why I'm so close to him. He doesn't even know I'm his mother...he thinks Emma is.”  
“Regina...” Robin tries whispering something but she stops him.  
“Don't pity me. I don't want...pity.” She says, closing her eyes.  
He shakes his head and coddles her, rocking still back and forth with her in his arms. “Regina, I wouldn't ever hurt you. I...is that what I was doing in your nightmare?” He asks, needing to know the answer.  
She nods sheepishly, “Henry killed your son in it. And you were mad...and I was stuck in the sand and sinking and – and...couldn't go anywhere. I couldn't help him and then you...” Her voice breaks and he lays his chin on her head, holding the back of it with his hand.  
“From what you've told me, Henry wouldn't hurt a fly.” He says, trying to take her mind of the rape. He wouldn't ever do that, and she knows that somewhere in the back of her mind. “We have to keep our minds focused. Otherwise the desert and loneliness takes over.” He says, whispering softly to her in an attempt to calm her down.   
“He beat him...” Regina chokes out.  
Robin shakes his head, “No he didn't...” He says, “Shhh. No one beat anyone.” He lies, knowing that that's what had to happen at the site they saw today. Everyone's faces were bloodied, not chewed or mauled. Bruised, scratched...beaten. He's figured that much out. “Let's get some sleep...okay? I'll be right here...you don't need to worry.”  
She nods helplessly, lying back down and trying to calm her breathing.   
How could she, though? How was it possible to calm down after she just ripped her heart open and poured her darkest secrets out to a stranger?  
Leo King had some...creepy, old man obsession with her when Regina was in college. She hated his class and hated doing anything for him. Administrations wouldn't let her switch because there was no real need for her to, according to them. “He's a good man, Miss Mills. He wouldn't actually hurt you, though you may get that feeling. He's been with us at this college for many, many years.”   
Ever since then, she's wondered how many other poor girls he's raped to – quote on quote - “better their futures”. How many other boyfriends, fiances, husbands he's killed because “you'd be better off without him”. Thinking about him just gives her chills, makes her stomach flip and tumble.  
And Daniel...Daniel. How much she missed him...that made her cry. Leo made her sick to her stomach, but that wasn't the reason she was crying. He ruined her. Ruined her potential relationship she could've had with her son, ruined her future with the love of her life...  
Almost every drastic measure Regina has taken can be blamed on Leo somehow. He should've been put in jail, but no one believed her.   
Robin will never know it, but that's why she became involved in politics. To help the little people who don't have a voice like she once was, but it wasn't the life for her. She couldn't take all of that.  
I'm just a stupid secretary became her cop out. She wasn't anything important. No one needed anything from her. And that's what confuses her most about this experience. She's no one special, she's worked hard to make herself be no one special. Yet, they're still after her.  
..  
…  
Birds are chirping, sun is shining brightly, it's like the whole world wasn't coming to an end. But in reality, it was. Maybe the animals and the sun didn't know that. Maybe they thought it was just any other day.  
Nonetheless, it isn't. Not for Regina and Robin, not after the previous night with feelings still high on her end.  
When she sits up, she sees he's already awake. She asks him how long he's been up, but he doesn't really know. And then she thinks about what a stupid question that was...it's not exactly like they have a time schedule to follow. He guesses at about thirty minutes, so she looks at the watch on her wrists to see the time. “You woke up early.” She says, leaning against the hard wall with the blanket still over her legs.  
He shrugs, busy with cooking something over a fire. She's learned not to ask what he's cooking a lot of times unless he just tells her. “I wanted to get some food for this morning. We have a long journey again today, and I just hope that we miraculously don't run out of fuel.” He says, tilting his head. She can hear him sigh, even over the crackling flames.  
“Oh.” She simply says, her voice still small from how much she cried last night. She hasn't gotten that much sleep, and she guesses that's why he didn't wake her up to hunt with him like he has been doing. She stays silent again, her thoughts wanting to drift back to Leo and Daniel and her son. Her son. Not Emma's. Not anyone else's but hers and Daniel's, whom would be so proud of Henry if only he were here.   
But he isn't. Leopold killed him and no one could ever prove it, and she's not about to cry about it now again. She needs to stop being so emotional. She keeps telling herself that and has been telling herself that since the gun incident and she still can't make herself be in control.   
Her mind is stuck on the sweet memory when she got to hold Henry for the first time. He was born on the hottest day in the history of Arizona (or at least that's how she sees it. It was hot, but not the hottest) at 4:01 in the afternoon. He was small, born a month early at only 6 pounds and 2 ounces. But he was perfect – he was healthy and he was screaming in her arms while she was crying happy tears, then soon after, sad tears because she knew what she needed to do unfortunately. It was what was best for Henry. She wanted that for him. She needed him alive.   
Then another memory – her mind working in the complete opposite of chronological order – when she found out she was pregnant. She was only twenty-one, unmarried, and with child.  
She was scared he would dump her after she told him (which was the very first thing she did after taking the fifth pregnancy test). She was scared to lose her best friend and partner, the absolute love of her life. But instead, he welcomed her with open arms, cradled her, and kissed her head before saying, we're going to have a baby. Be happy, Regina. I love you with or without a baby.  
Shudders go down her spine as she holds those pesky tears back. She wipes at her eyes to keep the tears from overflowing onto her cheeks, even though they're already red from holding them in. She takes a shaky breath and stands up, deciding to ask what he's cooking this time.   
His answer is, “You don't really want to know.” and she asks nothing more after that, just stalks off to find a place to pee.  
Yet, another thing she misses already about the house – the stove, the bed, and the bathroom.  
..  
…  
It's just another silent car ride. The radio is somewhat working so it kills the awkwardness, but it's still tense. Just four days ago he kissed her right here.  
She needs to confront him about that.  
“Robin?” She asks, trying to come out strong but instead it sounded more like she just got punched in the gut. Which, in a way, she has. That's how she's sounded all day, pretty much, due to her nightmare ripping off the bandaid over her heart that she's had for years and years.   
He looks over as a response, keeping one hand on the wheel and one arm resting on the door, looking cooler than he really is, she thinks. He has sunglasses on that he'd taken from the convenience store that day, shielding his blue eyes from the hot sun. “What is it?” He asks after he's facing the road again, licking his bottom lip just slightly with the very tip of his tongue.  
Her fingers are fumbling around in her lap, her nails so short that she's not even sure they can be called nails anymore (a nervous habit of hers. It had gotten better until this whole fiasco). She's regretting saying anything before she actually figured out what to say to him. She's not sure. She has no idea how to bring this up, and the way she's about to do it comes out awkward and uneasy, “The kiss.” She says, her voice sounding like someone else's.  
His tongue stops over his lip and goes back in his mouth, swallowing thickly. His lips part again but nothing comes out, just air being breathed in. “The kiss.” He replies.   
What kind of reply was that? Was it a sad one? Bad? An, ew that horrible kiss. Or was it, the kiss with a bunch of little heart-eye emojis after it? He's so vague. If he would've asked her, and the tables would've been turned, she'd at least show some emotion.  
“What about it?” He asks, tilting his head down a little like he was shy to say it. She notices this, and her heart skips again.   
Lips bitten, she looks down again, “What...what did it...why did you do it?” She asks, finally having that metaphorical weight lifted off of her shoulders and wow did it feel good.   
It would've felt better if he would've answered sooner, though, because instead of the weight she has on her shoulders there's an anvil over her head, either waiting to drop or waiting to be gracefully carried away, depending on his answer.   
His shrug isn't very reassuring, either, and the way his body language is talking to her. He doesn't perk up, he doesn't slouch down, he just stays relaxed while answering, “I don't know. You just...you needed to relax. And it apparently worked.” He says and turns the now static radio down while scrunching his face in confusion (which Regina has really grown to like). “Regina, that was days ago. Why are you just now bringing it up?”  
She shrugs, trying to mimic his coolness...or something. “Just popped into my head. I haven't really thought much about it, honestly.” She says calmly, not letting him know that she's been thinking about it almost all day every day since then. “I just thought you might have this...weird crush on me.” She answers, teasing him now.  
He raises a brow and let's out a huff of some sort of laugh, “A crush? What am I? A fifteen year old boy?”  
“Oh come on...grown men can still have crushes.” She coaxes, still moving her fingers around on each other and cracking and popping them.  
He looks over for a moment to smirk at her. “I think someone has a crush on me, actually.”  
“Oh?” She asks, playing it cool. Cool, calm, collected. Right... “And who would be stupid enough to have a crush on you, Mr. Locksley, god of crushes?”  
His smirk turns into this smug grin that she's only seen him do, not any other man. Or at least, the only one who's done it and looked that much more attractive. “The same woman I kissed just a few days ago.” He answers, leaning back in his seat, puffing his chest out a bit.  
Maybe she had it wrong. Maybe he was hiding his true body language just like she was so he wouldn't feel he was being inappropriate. Maybe she should reconsider her next words before they blurt out as hell no, I don't. Because then, she's almost sure, there would be no way he would date her. “Hmm, what gives you that idea?” She asks, and something in her mind clicks and realizes that was a flirt. This conversation has been a flirting endeavor.  
“She's nervous. She's never really nervous around me, except for when she first met me. Before I saved her life.”  
“You did not save my life!” She fires back, immediately killing the flirting. “If anything, I saved you by pulling you out of the way of that car that night. Nice try, big shot.”  
He smirks and the happiness shows throughout his whole face, something she actually hasn't seen on him before. “Well, maybe we actually saved each other?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (better if read on fanfiction.net. Also, this chapter is rated M for smut)

Phoenix, Arizona. 10:28 PM. Two tired people in the front seat of a worn out Ford F-150.  
“There's not exactly enough wilderness in Phoenix to stay in a cave.” She states, keeping her gaze forward and continuing, “But there's also not anyone here anyway, so why don't we just find the next hotel?” She asks.  
They just got finished talking about how amazing it was that they finally got out of Green Valley. Finally made it past there and into Phoenix where they were once hoping life was, but no longer have those hopes when the roads are bare – only crashed cars scattered here and there. House lights and restaurant signs were still on, televisions in people's homes were still playing, and billboards were still lit up like nothing had ever gone wrong. But of course, no one was there to turn them all off, either.  
He answers, “Okay.” Before pulling into a parking lot about a mile later, a sign brightly lit that reads: Arizona Grande. The outside, at least, is absolutely breathtaking. Has to be at least thirty stories high, neon lights scattered all up and down and around the building. There are ponds filled with water going all the way around, fountains in the middles, and neon lights making each drop of H20 shine beautifully just as the building does.  
Once they're over the bridge and into the parking lot, they both help with the bags. He grabs the duffle like usual, she grabs the snack bag from the convenience store that mostly just contained little things here and there, since they've eaten all of the food from it.  
The door opens and no alarms go off – just like it was open for business. When they walk in, a smell hits them that makes their stomachs rumble almost in unison, “Food.” He says in a slight haze, his voice distant and his eyes searching for signs of a kitchen while Regina is grabbing a hotel map from the concierge desk.   
She searches for a few moments, “Kitchen.” She says, pointing to the room A23 labeled “kitchen”. “Let's put our bags in a room first.” She says, folding the map up and sticking it in the back of her jean pocket.  
The eerie feeling of just two people being in a huge, extravagant hotel like this never went away as they went into the elevator. Music was still playing in the small room, so it cut out some of the noise from them being pulled up, up, up to the very top floor – floor thirty. They'd made an unspoken, mutual decision on the floor because it's the best place to lookout and the best place to not get robbed if there happened to be anyone actually out there willing to do so. But right now, they're pretty sure it's just two people and a whole, big world full of animals and wildlife. And to go along with all of that...dead people.  
As they set the bags down in the penthouse, Regina's distracted by the view from the balcony. “It's so gorgeous at night.” She whispers, twinkling lights making the night sky bright, hiding the stars a little more than they were out in the open. It made her feel like everything was okay, because you can't see people from balconies anyway. Just the pretty lights, the soft roar of the wind going around the building. But the lack of car sounds and sirens made that empty feeling come back.  
She folds her arms over her chest and rubs her arm nervously with the palm of her hand, looking over her shoulder to the phone. “Is it worth a shot?” He asks, coming up behind her – giving her the space she needs to not feel uncomfortable but also almost stepping over that line.  
She knows what he's talking about, his eyes are staring at the same thing hers are. “I don't know. I don't think there's anyone alive, Robin.” She says, “And it'll probably just end up like at the convenience store, a dead line.”  
He sighs and rubs the back of his neck, “Well that one was done purposely, remember? It was cut?” He says, and she can feel him trying to make the situation better like he always does. He always has this ridiculous amount of hope and faith.  
She shakes her head and asks, “And what makes you think this one isn't cut either?” still making him remember the idea that someone could be messing with them.  
When he doesn't say anything, she finally stalks over dreadfully to the bedside table and picks the phone up, dialing Emma's number since that's the first one that came to mind. That, and because Henry is usually with her if either are alive.  
She sits down at the edge of the mattress and takes a deep breath, swallowing hard as she hears the dial tone in her ear followed by the ringing. Once, twice, “I don't think they're alive.” She whispers, looking down into her lap. Three, four, “She isn't picking up.” She says, just as brokenly as before. He joins her on the edge of the bed and keeps to himself as the fifth and sixth ring through her ear, then Emma's voicemail.  
“Hey it's Emma Swan. I can't get to the phone right now...I'm probably at work or something. Leave your name and number at the beep and I'll catch ya later.”  
She lays the phone back on the dock and looks down with cloudy vision. “Just as I suspected. They're not here.” She whispers sadly, her fingers fumbling with each other as she tries to rid the thought of Henry being dead like those children were back in Green Valley where Graham laid dead. She couldn't believe her baby boy was dead...and worst of all, he didn't ever get to know that she was his mom.  
Suddenly, she feels strong arms wrapped around her and feels herself being rocked back and forth, “I shouldn't have asked you to call.” He's telling her, mumbling it into her shoulder, “If you want to stay here while I go get food, that's perfectly-”  
“No, I don't want to be alone. It seems to be that you're the only one I have in this world now.” She says, shaking her head and pushing her hair back that's slipped from the ponytail. She stands, bends over and fixes her hair, then wipes underneath her eyes.   
They've had bags under them since the third day they were stranded. She has a cut on her eyebrow and she doesn't even know where she's acquired that from. She wants to die, still, and she doesn't even have a clue why she's fighting anymore. For Roland? To find Robin's family? They're probably dead too, for all she knows. For all he knows.  
“Let's go.” She breathes, trying to put on a face that makes her look stronger than she really is. She has no strength left. She's tired, she's hungry, she's heartbroken that her son is probably laying out somewhere with a bloodied face just like those kids were. But she tries pushing on, tries hiding it from Robin that she's about to break again. She just wants to eat and drink and feel a sliver of normalcy in this empty hotel.  
He follows closely behind her, a little to the side, the whole way to the kitchen. Once they're there, he takes the lead and tells her to go find them a bottle of her favorite liquor for them to share over dinner on the other side of the wall where he is.   
Nodding, she's reluctant about even losing sight of him. She feels like she needs protection in this large hotel. A lot different from when they first met, when she wanted to leave him behind so she could walk by herself. A lot has changed, and a lot has happened since then. Now, she just wants anyone.  
Her eyes are scanning through the liquors on the wall behind the bar, straight behind the kitchen where he is. She grabs random things, not caring what they are at this point. She wants to feel numb. She doesn't care about drinking a liquor over dinner, she wants them all right now.  
Leaning, she peeks through the small window in the swinging door at Robin cooking something (she doesn't keep looking long enough to figure out what), then tip toes to the other side of the bar, sits, and pours four different liquors into a beer glass. She skips the shot glass, skips the wine glass, heads straight for the beer glass and fills it up with a nasty concoction of scotch, vodka, rum, and gin. She didn't care. She doesn't care, even as it burns like nothing she's ever experienced down her throat. She needs it. She needs the numbness that'll make her feel okay for a little while.  
He isn't looking for her yet, and she's thanking God he isn't. She wants all of this disgusting alcohol even if it makes her burn inside.   
It's like self-inflicted pain; cutting, punching a wall with no glove on your hand, taking drugs to make the mental pain go away. It burns like hell but it makes her feel numb after the glass is empty.  
Her head is spinning, buzzing, pounding – all of the above – when she hears her name called from the kitchen by Robin. She bites her lip, trying to decide if she really wants to answer his call and try to stand. He calls her name again, more adamantly, “Regina, come here.” and then she hears the faint sound of plates being set down on a countertop.   
Deciding to attempt the maneuver of walking, she stands and her lashes bat together quickly, trying to gain her balance and not fall over flat on the floor. Her hand holds the counter for support, running her fingers along the underside of it as she walks, her thumb having to catch her from tipping over the other way every once in a while.   
She pushes her way through the kitchen doors, brows raised, “Yes?” She murmurs, meaning to come out more confident and a whole hell of a lot less drunk than she did.  
The look on his face lets her know that he already has his suspicions about what she's been doing. That's why he doesn't even ask her, she's sure of it. “I've prepared dinner. It's not much but at least it's not something that we had to shoot to eat.” He states, grabbing forks after his long search for them, setting them by the plate filled with steamy hot fettuccine alfredo, topped with delicious Parmesan cheese. “Did you forget the liquor?” He asks and watches her.  
She stumbles over to the little metal table, lined with two spare chairs from the lounge area outside of here. She finds the chair and scoots it out, readying herself to sit, and completely misses the chair. Her upper body shoots up off the ground frantically, exclaiming, “I'm okay!” as she tries reaching for the table.  
By now, Robin has already set down the water pitcher, forgotten about the question he'd asked, rushed to her side, and is now helping her up by her shoulders. He stays silent as he sits her on the chair properly, taking his own seat out and sitting down as well. He leaves to quickly grab some whiskey, just for him. He's not going to give her more.  
They both start eating the first meal they've had that didn't have to be shot, cleaned, and prepared all in the same day. The first meal that they wanted seconds of, and that's what they had. Seconds for Regina, and Robin even had thirds.   
At his last bite of pasta, he sets the fork down on his plate, takes the napkin from his lap and wipes his mustache – once just stubble when she met him, now overgrown – then sets the cloth back into his lap, leaning against the table on his elbows. His eyes are boring into hers, she can feel them like singeing lasers, “Why did you do that?” He finally asks, his tone low and not upset, but curious.  
She keeps her silence up, mostly because she's afraid if she says much she'll make a fool of herself. But he questions again, just a simple why this time. Her fingers are rubbing together in her lap and she looks down to watch them, “It felt good.” She says, her body bending a little at her waist as she tilts her head.  
There's the scolded child coming out in her again. The one that feels small and reprimanded.   
“It felt good?” He asks, “It felt good? Regina, you're how old? You're not a teenager. Stop acting like this...stop acting this way.” He says, not snapping at her but coming close to it. “It's a bad situation. Just because it's a bad situation doesn't give you any reason to do this.”  
She looks up with her jaw gritted, “I am not going to sit here and be treated like I'm your child. Yes, I drank way too much, but you are not my parent. You're not my husband. You're nothing but a friend who needs to stay out of my business.” She blurts out, clenching her teeth together once her sentence was finished.  
He stands up and takes her plate, taking his and bringing them to the sink. “You're drunk, Regina.” He snaps, “You're being pathetic, wishing someone would pity you other than me. Guess what? We're the only ones in this damn world now, no one will feel sorry for you but me. I'm sorry I am trying to look out for you and keep you from dying, but I don't want to be alone in the world. I don't want to be by myself.” He says, putting the plates down so hard in the sink that the bottom one cracks.   
It startles her a little, her nerves apparently not completely numb yet. She stands up confidently, no stumbling or falling this time, walks a straight line to him and grabs his shirt collar. He turns around to face her, but her lips hit his so hard that he doesn't even have time to think about what they were doing.   
He loses his balance a little from the weight she's put on him, falling back on the sink and bringing his hands up to cup her cheeks. His eyes are closed now, he's taking in the way her lips feel, he's relaxed more. She's still pressing on his body, though, even as she pulls him up from the counter by his shirt, making their chests press together.   
She turns them so that she's the one pinned between the sink and his body, now bringing her hands up to his cheeks, copying his motion. She pulls away and looks down, breathing heavy. “Thank you for dinner.” She whispers, never making eye contact. She pushes past him, still not lifting her head to look at him.  
A hand touches her shoulder, making her jump a little. She stops and swallows hard, still tasting the remnants of alcohol from his mouth and hers, and of the pasta (the very delicious pasta). “What?” She breathes, moving her eyes to look at his fingertips just in time for her body to be swooped around to him again.  
His facial hair feels harsh and rough against her soft lips, but she doesn't mind. Especially not since she's so drowned in alcohol.   
Before she knows it, his hands are wandering down her sides in a desperate search for the same thing she was trying to find with the alcohol – numbness. They slide back up, taking her shirt up her sides with his rough palms. She let's a moan out into his mouth, pushing away and turning around immediately, taking him by his belt and dragging him behind her.  
Her steps are sure, now, even though her vision is beyond blurred. He's started it, now he's going to finish it.  
In the elevator, he's pushed against the wall by her body, being completely ravished by her lips. They're going up, down his neck, chest, and under his ears. Every inch of skin that's exposed without undressing him in this elevator. He turns them, pushing her against the wall and switching their positions, kissing her lobe and nibbling on it, stopping to whisper, “Why are you doing this?” hotly in her ear.  
She stops and swallows thickly, thoughts intruding her buzzing head. “I need it.” She whispers, “I need you.”  
And that was it, the last three words was what he needed to swoop her into his arms and take them to their room when the elevator dinged and the doors opened.  
He stands her on her feet once they're inside of the room, shutting the door out of habit, though there's no one here to see them. He hoists her onto his hips, slamming her against the back of the door and making a harsh breath come from her lips.   
She's wishing she was wearing a lot less clothing than she actually is. A dress, perhaps, because he could just lift it up her legs and move her panties to the side, fulfilling her need. But no, he's still peppering kisses down her neck and collarbone, her fingertips are scraping his back through his shirt. “Robin...” She hisses, grinding her hips against his, wrapping her legs tightly around him. Around his neck, her arms are holding tightly and her hands are now running up through his hair, “Robin...” She whispers again, more sternly and ready.  
He's gotten the hint because he's now working at the button on her pants. He has to let her down on the floor, it's awkward and clumsy but Regina's drunkenness doesn't even register that. She pulls them down for him, taking every single piece of clothing off for him quicker than if she had bees inside of them. She wants him, desperately needs him.   
On the door again in no time, he's working at his pants to undo them, and they fall down to around his knees. He steps closer, working to reach his cock out of his boxers. She looks down the small space between them at how large he is, the gasp between her lips distracts him momentarily.  
“Distracting?” He asks, a smug grin on his lips as he watches her hands come down to wrap around him.   
A moan escapes from him as she squeezes, looks in his eyes, and speaks. “If you're not in me in the next five seconds, you'll be the last person on this earth.”   
He looks down and takes her hands away, directing himself to find her entrance.   
Her head pounds as he slides in, her whole body shivering. She's as tight as a virgin, as hairy as a caveman, and probably smelly. But she really, really doesn't care as he slides all the way inside, her heels digging into his ass hard.   
She slams her lips on his again, his hands are on her ass and helping his hips to move his cock in and out of her at a slow pace. Her hips grind harder, wanting more friction. He takes her by her wrists and pins them up against the door behind them, exposing her breasts and making them perk more, her nipples hardened buds. He looks in her eyes as her head falls to the side, her lips mouthing fuck me, though no sound was coming out.   
And he does. Her ass slams against the door so hard with each thrust that the hinges start to squeak. Ah! is escaping over and over and over from her lips, “Harder.” She murmurs, her fists clenching as he hits that spot inside of her.  
“You're so damn beautiful.” He whispers, kissing down her breasts. “So damn beautiful.” again and again, finding her nipple with his tongue, swirling it around and sucking on her desperately.  
She feels him, now, she feels that he's just as desperate as her. His kisses are weighted, his tongue is quick and hasty. He wants to feel something just as much as she does. He's hungry, and she isn't any hungrier.  
Her hips are thrusting on his, trying to move herself up and down on his cock. He's huge, he makes her insides hurt from how long it's been since she's actually had sex, let alone a man this big. No, she's never had one this big, she's sure of it.  
Moans reverberate through the room, mixing and mingling together as they both get closer and closer. He brings his hands to her hips, ready to lift her off of him when it's time to do so (seeing as they never exactly talked about birth control plans, and they certainly didn't need any of that happening. Even Regina, in all her alcohol glory, understands why he has his hands on her hips and squeezing).   
Her bottom lip falls down, further, further, ah! “Yes, Robin...fuck...” She hisses, just as she feels his fingertips tighten around her skin and lift her up off of him.  
His knees buckle underneath him and he takes her with him, letting her land on his abdomen and chest. He holds her tight and tries to catch his breath. “Damn...” is all he can seem to say, over and over.  
“Damn.” She agrees. Her head falls against his chest and she rolls over onto the floor, then she reaches for the wine cabinet and grabs one, popping the cork and swigging some. She hands the bottle over, “We may as well drink. It's not like we can hurt anyone in the world.”  
He takes it, gulping some down in no time. “I'll go get some liquor from the bar.” He says, standing up and pulling his boxers on, making his way to the kitchen.   
She watches him from behind, wondering what the hell she's doing. His question of why is burning a hole in her mind. Because he has a nice body? Because she's always wondered ever since the second night they slept together in that bed what his cock looks like? Or what his ass looks like? And as she's watching him walk away, she reminds herself that it's a pretty nice looking ass.  
But why? Why have sex with him? She doesn't love him...does she? No...she can't. She doesn't love anyone anymore. Love just leads to heartbreak.  
..  
…  
“Did you name him?” Robin asks, his arm around the back of her neck as they're halfway laying down in the bed (finally, in the bed instead of in the floor). “Henry, I mean. Did you name him...”   
She sips more at her bottle of liquor, one of the whiskey bottles he'd brought. “Yes.” She answers simply, waiting for a moment before she goes on, “After my father. Henry Mills. He was a good guy, a great-”  
“Senator. He was the United States Senator for Arizona...wasn't he?” Robin finishes, sipping at his liquor as well.  
She nods softly, pressing her lips together and swallow hard, the alcohol burning down her throat as she sets it between their bodies. “Yeah. He was.” She says, not offering anymore information, and he doesn't push for it.  
Sighing, he moves to grab the blanket and pull it up over them, “What should we do now?” He asks quietly.  
“About what?” She asks, shaking her head. She knew what he was asking about. She knew that he meant about them...about their lives as the last two people on this earth.  
He clears his voice and sips some more, clenching his jaw as he thinks of his next words, “About everything. Do we try to...keep trying to find people? Or do we just go on with our lives and...and do what? Have sex all the time, eat, drink?” He asks.  
A smirk comes onto her face as she looks over at him, “I wouldn't mind having sex all the time.” She coos, climbing on top of him.  
This isn't the normal Regina. She's not herself, she's not usually this cougar who sleeps with strangers. Usually. But she's had so much alcohol that even she isn't sure how she hasn't passed out yet.   
Robin grabs her sides and her bottle of liquor that she set down tips, spilling the little bit it had in it on the pillow. “You wouldn't?” He asks, smirking and mirroring her expression almost to a tee.  
She shakes her head and kisses down his body as she slides down on him, “Not at all...” She moans, sitting on him perfectly and rolling her hips in circles on him.  
..  
…  
It's noon already, neither of them are awake.   
The five rounds of hot and heavy sex, and the sixth round of lazy sex that resulted in them actually falling asleep (or getting knocked out) while he was inside of her. Through the night, though, they've moved and have separated a little. He only wakes because of a loud, screeching siren-like noise coming from outside.   
He tries his best to jump out of the bed, but his pounding head makes it hard for him to do much of anything. He looks out the window, “Regina.” he says, “Regina, do you hear that?”  
“Mmmm...” She moans, not waking up but only slightly.   
He sighs, walking to her and shaking her gently, “Regina, wake up. It's important.”  
And with that, her eyes open to see his immensely blue ones staring down at her. “What is it?” She mumbles, her head aching and pounding, her stomach swirling with nausea.   
He pulls on her a little, suggesting for her to get up. She does, holding the sheet to her front side out of habit. She's not sure why...he's seen her naked plenty of times now. No point in covering, seeing as he isn't covered. “It's a siren.” He says, looking out the window.  
She shakes her head, “It's not a siren.” She says, still dazed, “It sounds...different. And it's a constant sound...not like of an ambulance or police car.” She explains, “But I can't figure it out right now. I need sleep.” She mumbles, going back to the bed and feeling the cool breeze on her ass when she forgets to cover that piece.  
She feels his hand on her bare skin and turns around, smirking a little, “I said sleep, not sex.”  
Not like it mattered, because in a matter of seconds he was on top of her again and inside of her for the seventh time in a matter of twelve hours or so.   
Neither one of them knew what the hell they were doing. They were numbed...thankfully. Thanks to the alcohol. They needed to relax, release...and that's what they're giving each other.


End file.
